Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Real world — Brazil, countryside of São Paulo, on a random rainy Tuesday.

The sound of rain tapping on the window was the perfect soundtrack for that night’s boredom. In Elara's messy room, LED lights blinked in shades of purple and blue. A The Vampire Diaries poster decorated the wall next to the wardrobe. It had the sacred trinity: Damon, Stefan, and Elena — although, secretly, Elara rooted more for the stylish villains.

She was sitting in front of her laptop, wrapped in an old hoodie, with a mug of (almost cold) coffee in one hand and the mouse in the other. On the screen, one of those sketchy websites she swore she clicked on “just for academic curiosity.”

“Alright… random link, weird name, glitchy icon… of course I’m going to click on this,” she laughed to herself. “What could possibly go wrong, right?”

She clicked.

Instantly, the screen flashed black. The Windows error sound played a symphony of panic. The coffee almost slipped from her hand.

“Uh-oh… this is bad.” She pressed Esc. Nothing. Ctrl+Alt+Del. Nothing. “AAAAA.”

The screen lit up again. But now it displayed something completely different. A dark background with white letters.

“Welcome, Elara.
You have been selected.
New destination: Mystic Falls.
New body: Hybrid.
Condition: Do not reveal you have been reincarnated, or your soul will be deleted.”

She blinked, stunned.

“Huh? What kind of crazy RPG is this?”

Another line appeared:

“Do you wish to accept?
[YES] [NO]”

She laughed, not taking it seriously.

“Alright, universe. Send me to Mystic Falls, I want to see Klaus up close. YES!”

She clicked.

At that moment, the screen went black, and the entire room seemed to shake. A buzzing filled her ears, as if the world was spinning in reverse. The coffee fell from the mug, the laptop flew off the desk, and everything went black.

And then… silence.

Chapter Text

The smell of mold and old wood filled Elara's nostrils the moment she regained consciousness. Her head throbbed as if she had taken the SATs without coffee, and her hands were bound by rough ropes, tightly tied to a wooden beam. She looked around, confused, her green eyes wide beneath her messy red fringe.

"This doesn’t look like Hogwarts," she muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm and a hint of panic.
[Author's Note: If it were Hogwarts, at best, this would be Snape's dungeon. And honestly… that might be better than where she is right now.]

On the other side of the room, another girl was also tied up. Straight brown hair, frightened eyes, a familiar face.

Elena Gilbert.

Elara swallowed hard.

Holy crap, it actually worked? I’m in The Vampire Diaries universe… but did it have to start here, kidnapped?
[Author's Note: There it is, the classic “be careful what you wish for.” She wanted to be in the show’s universe… she got it! Just forgot to ask not to land in the episode of pure suffering.]

Trevor, a vampire with a youthful appearance but eyes far too ancient, paced the room nervously. Rose, more serious, eyed Elena as if she were a trophy.

"We have little time before Elijah arrives," Rose said, crossing her arms.

Elara inhaled sharply. Elijah. The Original in a suit. The charming, polite, and absolutely dangerous one. The one who could rip heads off with a single touch.

She squirmed against the ropes, whispering to herself:

"Okay, Elara, think… You’re a vampire. And a witch. You’ve watched this series a thousand times. You know what’s about to happen. Elena’s screwed… and now you are too. Congrats, girl, that’s what you get for wanting to ‘observe.’ You’re in the middle of the mess before you even get a milkshake."

The ache in her back reminded her of the transition: the constant hunger, the predatory instinct, and the magic pulsing in her veins. Not a very reliable combination. Inside the inner pocket of her jacket— which no one had thought to check [terrible kidnappers, zero points for them] —was her old grimoire, which looked like a hardback book wrapped in fake leather with a musty smell.

She whispered a few words in Latin from the grimoire. The ropes loosened slightly, and she smirked.

"Nerds always win."

Elara glanced at Elena and whispered:

"Hey, Gilbert, wanna get out of here alive, or are you gonna wait for the guy in the suit to give his monologue before ripping your heart out?"

Elena’s eyes widened.

"Who are you?"

"Long story. I’ll explain later. But trust me, when Elijah shows up, he’ll use you as bait. And I’d rather not die again." She yanked herself free with a sharp pull and hurried over to Elena. "Let’s improvise."

As Trevor fiddled with the door, distracted, Elara cast an impact spell.

"Expulsio."

The window shattered into a spray of glass and dust. Elena screamed, instinctively shielding her face. Rose turned sharply, but it was too late: Elara grabbed Elena’s hand.

"Run, girl, run like it’s Black Friday!"

The two stumbled out of the old cabin, their feet slipping in the mud, adrenaline spiking. Shouts behind them confirmed Trevor and Rose were furious.

"There’s a car over there!" Elena pointed desperately to a black sedan parked nearby.

Elara sprinted toward the vehicle, trying the handle. Miraculously, it was unlocked. And, as if by destiny [or lazy writing?], the key was in the ignition.

"Is this a crossover prank with Fast & Furious?" Elara grumbled as she turned the key. The engine roared. "Get in, woman! Move!"

Elena jumped into the passenger seat, still barely understanding what was happening.

"Are you kidnapping me?"

"Kidnapping? No! I’m the supernatural Uber of the night, and this ride is free… at least for you."

The tires spun on the loose dirt as Elara floored it, making the car skid with a style she definitely didn’t learn in the real world [yes, gamers are not drivers, people].

But the calm didn’t last.

Suddenly, the hood of the car crumpled as if it had slammed into an invisible wall. The vehicle screeched to a halt. A figure stood in the middle of the road, untouched, exuding calm, implacable authority.

Elijah Mikaelson.

Wearing a perfectly tailored suit, as if he had stepped straight out of a Hugo Boss catalog, he brushed a shard of glass off his shoulder.

"Ladies. Where do you think you’re going?"

Elara paled.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. I just ran over Elijah."

"You did WHAT?!" Elena shouted.

"I ran over the Original. And he’s dusting off his suit!" Elara began smacking the steering wheel, panicking. "I’M GONNA DIE AGAIN! HE’S GONNA KILL ME WITH A LOOK!"
[Author's Note: Honestly, if it were me, I’d have left the car already, made the sign of the cross, and apologized for the rest of my life.]

Elijah stepped forward.

Elara slammed the gearshift into reverse, glanced at Elena, and said:

"If I die, make sure they tell my story as a martyr, okay?"

"What?!"

"BRASILEIRA, WITCH, VAMPIRE, AND NO TIME, SISTER."

She floored the gas, sending the car skidding away down the dirt road, Elijah now following with calm, deliberate steps — the gait of a predator who knew that, sooner or later… he’d catch his prey.

[Author's Note: I’m already apologizing to you guys because messing with Elijah in the first chapter is like choosing the final boss level right away. Courage, Elara, because I sure wouldn’t have it.]

Chapter Text

Location: Abandoned warehouse, outskirts of Mystic Falls.
Time: Less than 20 minutes after Elijah’s “accident.”

Elara’s breathing was audible, ragged. Her chest rose and fell frantically as she pressed her ear against the back wall of the warehouse, where she and Elena had taken cover. The place was dark, damp, silent, and… not exactly reliable in terms of protection. But it was all they had.

She stepped back from the wall and turned to Elena, who was sitting on a pile of crates, still wearing the face of “I have no idea what just happened.”

“Ok. What was that?” Elena asked, trying to whisper but still sounding outraged. “We… you ran over a man!”

Elara blinked, incredulous.

“A man?! Elena, that was not a man. That was an Original! A thousand-year-old vampire who wears suits like second skin and kills with manners! Do you realize what we did? HE GOT HIT BY A GOL G6 AND DIDN’T EVEN MESS UP HIS HAIR GEL!”

Author’s Note: the true power of the Originals isn’t immortality; it’s hair product fixation, people.

Elena blinked a few times.

“You didn’t have to shout.”

“I always shout when I’m one step away from becoming another teenage murder statistic!”

Elena slowly stood up.

“I just want to go home…”

Elara’s eyes widened, disbelief flooding her face.

“Go home?! Are you insane? We just escaped a kidnapping, blew out a window, stole a car — which, by the way, belonged to the very vampire who’s probably planning our deaths with cutlery right now — and YOU WANT TO GO HOME?”

“I have help!” Elena shot back, trying to stay calm. “Damon, Stefan, Bonnie… they’ll protect us!”

Elara snorted loudly, throwing her hands up.

“Oh, sure. Great. The unhinged boyfriend, the brother-in-law who lives in a perpetual state of martyrdom, and the witch friend who’s died and come back more times than a glitchy app! These people are basically chaos magnets! You know what season we’re in, right? Season two! They still have no clue how to handle Originals! Damon’s going to make jokes, Stefan will play the martyr, and Bonnie… Bonnie’s gonna get another nosebleed!”

Author’s Note: if I were Bonnie, I’d have asked for medical insurance just for hemorrhages by now.

Elena crossed her arms.

“You seem to know too much…”

“I’m observant. Nerdy. I read a lot… and… research.” She deflected, averting her gaze. She couldn’t tell the truth about who she really was. Rules of the “supernatural reincarnation game”: tell the truth = soul deleted.

Elena stepped closer, curious now.

“You’re… like them?”

Elara hesitated. But she couldn’t lie too much either.

“Let’s just say I’m what happens when someone decides to upgrade two dangerous creatures and forgets to install a safety button. Vampire. And witch. Hybrid. A full combo of ‘things went wrong.’”

Elena took a step back, alarmed.

“Are you dangerous?”

Elara smirked sarcastically.

“Elena… look at me. I’m five feet tall, I’m a redhead, I’m wearing a Star Wars shirt, and I screamed when I saw Elijah. I’m the opposite of dangerous. I’m like a pocket-sized version of trouble.”

Author’s Note: pocket-sized, yes, but still deadlier than any Funko Pop.

The two fell into brief silence. Only the sound of rain outside and crickets in the grass filled the warehouse.

“He’s going to find us…” Elena murmured, hugging her arms.

“I know,” Elara said, still trembling. “But until then, we need to think. You have all these friends? Great. But I’ve got no one. Just my grimoire, my brains, and a history of staying alive by watching all this from the outside. Now I’m in the middle of it. And I’m really good at not getting involved. I’m an expert at staying in the corner and not getting killed, got it?”

“You don’t want to help?”

Elara stared at her.

“I’ll help. But I charge.”

“You charge?!”

“My magic isn’t a charity service. There’s a limit on how many spells I can cast a day, and I don’t offer warranties. Use at your own risk.”

Elena gawked at her.

“You’re joking.”

“Not even close. Brazilian survival means freelancing even during the apocalypse.”

Author’s Note: the true cultural heritage of Brazil is the freelance hustle, confirmed.

A dull sound echoed from outside. Like a manhole cover being tossed aside.

Elara froze.

“Shit… he’s close.”

Elena whispered, “Could be an animal.”

Elara hissed back, panic lacing her tone, “It’s an Original! Animal is a compliment!”

She yanked Elena and pushed her behind a toppled shelf.

“Stay quiet. Breathe shallow. And if he comes in… we pray. In every language possible.”

The two went silent. Then… a voice echoed outside.
Calm. Precise. Polite. Almost gentle.

“Elena… I know you’re in there.
The redhead, too. The one who dared to… run me over.”

Elara’s eyes bulged, and she whispered in sheer horror:

“He remembers me! He memorized my ID, my face, my height… I’M GOING TO DIE IN HD!”

“You may come out… or I’ll come in. Either way, this ends now.”

Silence.

Elena looked at Elara. Elara looked at Elena.

“Plan?”

“Panic.”

Elena rolled her eyes.

“No. Seriously.”

“That is the plan.”

Author’s Note: and that’s how we learn that if it were up to Elara, half the series would be solved with meltdowns and therapy.

Author’s Note (end of chapter):

Guys… let’s be honest, the real horror here isn’t Elijah entering the warehouse. It’s Elijah entering in a PERFECT SUIT after being hit by a car. 😳 I’d freak out just like Elara, no question.
So, what would your “plan” be? 👀 Run? Attack? Play dead? (because Elara clearly went with “panic and hope for divine intervention” 😂).
Drop your thoughts below, I’m curious!

Chapter Text

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Mystic Falls – Rainy Night

The silence in the warehouse was dense, suffocating. Elara crouched behind the fallen shelf, right next to Elena, who barely breathed. The redhead clutched the old grimoire so tightly her fingers had turned white.

Then the doorknob creaked.

A step. Another.

The sound of leather shoes tapping softly against concrete. Not rushed. Deliberate. The kind of step only someone with a thousand years of patience would take.

Elijah Mikaelson.

“Elena,” he called again, his voice low, almost gentle. “I have no intention of hurting you. Nor your… small companion with the strange accent.”

Elara whispered, “He noticed my accent. I’m so screwed.”

Author’s Note: Brazilians abroad are always recognized by their “coxinha accent,” even in the middle of an Original.

Elena looked at her, panic in her eyes.

“What do we do?”

Elara flipped through the grimoire frantically, murmuring, “I’m looking for a concealment spell, a distraction spell, or a miracle. Grab anything that has ‘escape’ in the title!”

The warehouse lights flickered as Elijah fully entered. Impeccable suit, not a single wrinkle. Hair perfectly combed. Hands in his pockets. He looked more like he was about to negotiate stocks on Wall Street than kill two fugitives.

“There’s no need for more chaos,” he said, his eyes scanning the area with precision. “The hit-and-run was enough.”

“It was an accident!” Elara blurted out, then immediately covered her mouth, horrified.

Elijah arched an eyebrow. A half-smile appeared.

“Ah, so you speak.”

He took two more steps, his eyes now fixed on the pile of boxes where the two were hiding.

Elara whispered quickly, grabbing an unlit candle from her backpack.

“Ignis vitae… umbros lucent… detegere mentis…” She struck a match, the flame flickering.

Elena’s eyes widened.

“What are you doing?”

“If this works, we’ll be invisible for fifteen seconds. If it doesn’t, I just light a candle and we die smelling like vanilla.”

Author’s Note: Worst way to die: like an overpriced cupcake.

The spell completed — and for a brief moment, the light around them seemed to bend, distort, hiding them from direct sight.

Elijah stopped just a few steps away.

“Very clever,” he murmured. “A witch, then. Unusual… but not impossible.”

CRACK.

The sound of breaking wood echoed as he gently pushed over one of the shelves — not theirs, but just two meters away.

Elara was sweating cold.

“He’s gonna find us. The spell’s gonna run out and I’ll end up as nervous redhead sushi.”

“Maybe we should surrender?” Elena whispered.

Elara looked at her, horrified.

“Have you lost your mind?! You want to be gift-wrapped for the Original?! I don’t even know how I got here, my soul’s GPS is glitched!”

Then, suddenly… a knock from outside.

Seconds later, the door burst open with a crash.

“Elena?!” Stefan’s voice echoed, frantic.

Damon followed, looking both annoyed and confident.

“Well, well… are we interrupting a ‘let’s-kill-the-doppelgänger-slowly’ moment?”

Bonnie appeared last, hands already in spell position.

Elijah turned calmly to face them.

“Ah, the circus has arrived.”

Author’s Note: All that was missing was a red carpet for the grand entrance.

Damon smirked.

“Always a pleasure to ruin an Original’s plan. Especially one wearing a suit.”

“Damon…” Stefan warned with a glare.

Bonnie narrowed her eyes, her hands trembling with magical energy.

“Elijah, step aside.”

“Her magic’s going to backfire,” Elara whispered to Elena, still invisible. “Bonnie’s still in tutorial mode at this point.”

“I heard that,” Bonnie muttered, looking directly at the shelf where they hid.

The concealment spell dissolved. Like magic.

Literally.

Elara stood up slowly, wide-eyed, staring at the newcomers.

Damon gave her a once-over.

“And this is…?”

“The girl who ran me over,” Elijah said, dead serious.

Elara raised her hand nervously.

“In my defense, it was an accident. I thought the car was… an Uber.”

Damon chuckled.

“I like her already.”

“Not helping,” Stefan muttered, pulling Elena behind him.

Bonnie still eyed Elara suspiciously.

“She’s… a hybrid?”

Elara raised both hands in surrender.

“Leave me out of this fight. I’m just a tourist. Sightseeing. Running from death. Charging for spells. Normal.”

“Charging?” Damon asked, laughing harder. “You have a price list?”

Elara grinned.

“Sure do. Ranges from ‘simple enchantment’ to ‘spell that saves your butt in ten seconds or less.’ No guarantees, though.”

Elijah sighed, walking toward them again.

“Enough games.”

But before he could take the final step, Bonnie cast a barrier spell. Energy exploded in the air, making the floor tremble. Elijah stepped back, not out of fear, but out of respect for the confrontation.

“This won’t solve anything,” he said. “It’ll only delay the inevitable.”

Damon smirked mischievously.

“Well. Delaying is what we do best.”

Elara, deep down, muttered, “And here I thought I’d go unnoticed. I’m surrounded by protagonists and I’m the only one without supernatural health insurance.”

Author’s Note (end of chapter):
Guys, what can I say about this warehouse? Elijah calm as ever, Bonnie almost blowing up the wall, Damon roasting like it’s stand-up comedy… and Elara only worried about health insurance. 😂
What about you? Would you fight an Original or stick with Elara and pretend to be a tourist too? 👀

Chapter Text

Location: Abandoned Warehouse – still night.

The tension in the warehouse was so dense it felt like the oxygen had been drained. The lights hanging from the ceiling flickered, glowing in faint yellow tones. Shards of glass on the floor reflected the moving shadows.

Elijah stood there, in the center of the room, his expression unchanged, cold. The Original watched the group with a clinical, patient gaze, like a bored professor surrounded by underprepared students.

“You came prepared to fight me,” he said, his voice firm but still polite. “I consider that a personal affront.”

Damon tilted his head, sarcastic.

“Oh, right. Because kidnapping Elena and running over an innocent redhead is what? An invitation to tea?”

Elara raised a finger, still hiding behind a crate.

“I’m not innocent, but thanks for trying.”

[Author’s Note: honesty level 1000. I’d be the same.]

Stefan pulled Elena further back, shielding her with his body.

“Elijah, it doesn’t have to be like this. We don’t want to hurt you.”

The Original took a step forward.

“But I do.”

And then, he moved.

A blur. A whistle in the air.

Damon was the first to attack, lunging toward Elijah with force. But the Original caught him mid-air, twisting effortlessly and hurling him against one of the warehouse's concrete columns. The structure cracked on impact.

“Ugh…” Damon groaned, half-buried in the wall. “Someone remind me why we didn’t bring stakes?”

Stefan charged next, swinging an improvised wooden stake. The Original dodged with a fluid step, twisted Stefan’s arm, and slammed him to the ground with a sharp impact.

Bonnie began chanting a spell, her eyes glowing with energy.

“Confractus… ignis… obruere!” A blast of golden light exploded from her palms, striking Elijah in the chest.

He stumbled for a second.

One second.

That’s all they got.

Then, he stretched out his hand and, with a snap, sent Bonnie crashing into the opposite wall with a telekinetic blow.

Elara, watching it all, froze.

“Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Everyone’s flying around. Just missing me. I’m just the little witch in the back, nobody notices the little witch in the ba—”

Elijah noticed her.

[Author’s Note: PROTAGONIST-level bad luck. No escape.]

“And you,” he said, staring at her. “You ran me over.”

She raised her hands slowly, sweating bullets.

“It was an accident. I was nervous. Thought you were some random vampire. Didn’t know you were… upper management.”

“Running over an Original is an insult… and a crime,” Elijah said, advancing slowly.

Elara backed up, tripping over her own feet, feeling the stack of crates press against her back.

“I don’t wanna die again! I haven’t even had time to make a fake ID in this world yet!”

He advanced.

Elara, in pure desperation, grabbed the first thing she saw on the floor.

A broken plank.

With a sharp edge.

“Don’t come at me with that deadly heartthrob vibe!” she yelled, squeezing her eyes shut and thrusting the wood forward with force.

SQUELCH.

The sound of impact echoed like a muffled thunderclap.

Silence.

When Elara opened her eyes, Elijah was standing still, looking down.

The plank’s tip pierced his chest, straight into his heart.

By accident. Pure reflex. And maybe astral alignment.

[Author’s Note: Mercury retrograde definitely helped here.]

“OH MY GOD I STAKED AN ORIGINAL!” she screamed, dropping the stake. “Guys, someone write that down. I staked him. With a plank. Me. ME!”

Elijah staggered. His eyes blinked as if he couldn’t believe it either.

Stefan rushed to Elena.

Bonnie was slowly getting up.

Damon, on the other side of the room, let out a muffled laugh.

“…I’m… proud? I think? Yeah, I think I am.”

Elijah fell to his knees, the stake still lodged in his chest.

“Impressive…” he murmured before collapsing to the floor.

Silence.

Everyone looked at Elara, who was now trembling, gasping.

She wiped sweat off her forehead and glanced around.

“It was a reflex. Okay? I swear. I just wanted… to keep my internal organs intact.”

Bonnie walked toward her, still dazed.

“You staked an Original… with no training. No warning. And with a plank.”

“Welcome to Mystic Falls,” Damon muttered, laughing.

“I didn’t want to get involved!” Elara cried, almost sobbing. “I just wanted to observe! Stay in the background of the series! AND NOW I’M A MEME!”

Stefan crouched beside Elijah’s body.

“This won’t hold him for long. We need to leave. Now.”

Damon slung an arm around Elara.

“Come on, mini Buffy. You just earned yourself a ride to the mansion.”

She wriggled free, still in shock.

“I want a shower. And food. And a therapist. Preferably not a witch.”

As everyone moved to leave, Elena lingered, still shaken but grateful.

“Thanks for saving us,” she said softly.

Elara just muttered:

“…I’m charging for this later.”

And then the group vanished into the night, leaving behind a temporarily out-of-commission Original… and a girl who definitely didn’t want to be the protagonist, but had just won MVP of the night.

Post-Credit Scene

If this were really an episode 👀, the camera would focus on Elara leaning against a wall outside the warehouse, completely disheveled, sweaty, and still in shock. She took a deep breath, glanced around to make sure no one from the group was listening… and then turned straight to the “audience.”

“Okay… just so I get this straight. I drop into The Vampire Diaries out of nowhere, and in less than 24 hours I’ve: nearly died, met Elena, bumped into full-HD Sarcastic Damon… and STAKED ELIJAH.” She gestured wildly, panicked. “Like, hello??? Who wrote this script?”

[She crossed her arms and glared at the camera, outraged.]

“Wasn’t I supposed to start way back there, just watching the extras, like that random student nobody notices? But nooo. I drop straight into the special episode ‘let’s provoke the boss right away.’ And to top it off: with a random renovation plank.”

She sighed, rubbing her face.

“I wanted romance, you know? A cute background song, an unlikely friendship, a slow burn. But what did I get? The Mikaelson VIP agenda. And look… I’m not ready.” She pointed forward, as if poking the reader. “You wouldn’t be either, don’t lie.”

[Dramatic pause. She glanced up at the sky, exhausted.]

“If he survives…” she squinted. “I mean, when he survives, because yeah, Originals don’t die easy… I’m screwed. Really screwed.”

She looked back at the “camera,” with a nervous smile.

“Congrats to me. Accidental protagonist. MVP of the night. And the prize is: lifetime chase by a Mikaelson. Someone get me out of here before the suspense soundtrack kicks in.”

[End of post-credit scene.]

Author’s Note (end of chapter):

Guys, seriously… a PLANK. 😂 Elijah trained for a thousand years in vampiric martial arts, survived wars, witches, werewolves… and got staked by reflex and reclaimed wood.
So… do you think Elijah will forgive her for this, or is he adding her name to his personal revenge notebook? 👀

Chapter Text

Location: Salvatore Mansion, right after the confrontation with Elijah

The wheels of Stefan's car had barely touched the gravel driveway when the back door swung open. Elara stepped out as if returning from a grocery run.

"Wow, nice breeze... smells like rich forest. This house is really yours?" she asked, turning to Stefan and pointing at the mansion with an overly casual air. "Because, wow… I like it. Classic. Gloomy. Spacious. Gives off a ‘creatures who kill in style’ vibe."

Damon stepped out, slamming the door and laughing.

"Look at that... She runs over an Original, stakes the guy by accident, and now she wants a tour of the mansion?"

"Priorities, right?" Elara said, already climbing the porch steps like she owned the place.

Bonnie narrowed her eyes, arms crossed.

"You do know this house isn’t yours, right?"

Elara grinned, already opening the front door like a nosy aunt making herself at home.

"Not yet."

Upon entering, she paused for a moment, taking it all in: wide staircase, dark wooden furniture, faint scent of refined alcohol and extinguished candles. The atmosphere was perfectly Salvatore.

"Guys, this is gorgeous. Feels like ‘we kill and then pour bourbon into crystal glasses.’ I want to live here."

Damon was already at the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a drink.

"Well, if you keep saving lives and staking villains like today, I might rent you a room."

Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"No one’s renting her anything. We don’t even know what she is."

Everyone turned toward Elara, who was now sitting in an armchair like a wealthy socialite. She crossed her legs, fixed her red hair, and looked at the group as if presenting the credits of a movie.

"Okay. Right. Let’s get to the part you’re dying to know: ‘what I am.’"

Stefan, patient as always, stepped forward.

"It would help to understand… because you’re different. None of us can quite identify you. You’re a vampire, but…"

"But she does magic," Bonnie added, arms still crossed. "Real spells."

Elara made a face of fake modesty.

"I’m… hybrid."

Silence.

Damon, glass in hand, raised an eyebrow.

"Hybrid? As in half vampire, half…?"

"Witch," she finished, pointing at herself with her thumb. "Fifty-fifty. Full combo. Vampwitch. Witchpire. Still working on the stage name."

Stefan frowned.

"That’s not possible. Vampires… can’t procreate."

Elara looked at him as if he’d just declared that water is dry.

"And since when has biological impossibility stopped anyone from doing something stupid?"

"Explain," Bonnie said, still suspicious.

Elara shrugged.

"My mom was a witch. And apparently, she had a thing—maybe a slightly obsessive thing—for a very… how should I put it? Hot vampire. Lost her senses. Performed some crazy ritual. Boom. I was born."

Damon nearly choked on his bourbon.

"Seriously? The witch saw a hot vampire and thought, ‘Let’s have a baby’?"

Elara nodded, dead serious.

"That’s what the grimoire says. Torn page, but pretty clear. Ritual, blood, full moon… dangerous romance. Feels like a soap opera, only with more stakes to the chest."

"And do you know who they are?" Elena asked softly. "Your parents?"

An uncomfortable silence fell. Elara quickly looked away.

"Irrelevant details. What matters is that I’m here, with powers, no home, no identity, and… apparently… a killer aim for hitting Originals in the chest with random planks of wood."

Bonnie kept staring at her, unconvinced.

"That’s… very convenient."

Elara raised an eyebrow.

"Look, if I’d come here to cause chaos, I wouldn’t be wearing ripped jeans and carrying a grimoire that smells like wet dog."

Damon leaned back on the couch, still amused.

"I like her. Finally, someone in this house with a decent sense of humor. Can I keep her?"

Stefan sighed lightly.

"She needs a safe place, Damon. Elijah will be back."

"Yeah. And angry," Elena murmured.

Elara curled up in the chair.

"Thanks for reminding me. I always dreamed of meeting Elijah… but not like this. He saw me. He stared me down. Memorized my face. He’s going to track me down with the power of rage and wounded pride."

"Then you’re staying here," Stefan said firmly. "At least until we learn more about you."

Bonnie looked at them both, incredulous.

"You guys are seriously considering this? We don’t even know what she wants."

Elara stood, her tone calmer now—more honest.

"I want… to stay alive. That’s all."

She stopped in the center of the room, looking at them all.

"I didn’t ask to be here. I don’t understand why I’m in this world. I don’t remember where I came from, don’t know who I really am. But I’m trying not to die. And honestly… I’m tired of running."

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of Damon pouring another glass of bourbon.

"Cheers to the crazy homeless redhead. Hope you can cook."

Elara gave a crooked smile.

"Only instant noodles. But I know a spell to keep the pot from burning."

Damon raised his glass.

"Already better than what Elena can do."

"Hey!" Elena retorted, laughing for the first time.

Bonnie still seemed skeptical. But Stefan nodded.

"We’ll keep a close eye on everything. Carefully."

Elara looked around the mansion again. Now with a tired but genuine smile.

"I wanted to stay quiet, you know? Just stay in a corner, watch from a distance. But it looks like life threw me straight into the script."

She plopped back into the chair.

"So, fine. Chapter one: survival. Chapter two: finding a decent place to sleep. And chapter three: figuring out why on earth I’m in this universe with people who kill while smiling."

Post-Credit Scene

Dim lights. Elara sitting on the edge of a bed that clearly isn’t hers (spoiler: Salvatore guest room). Hair messy, grimoire open in her lap. She looks directly at the “camera/reader” with that you-won’t-believe-this face.

"Okay, let’s talk seriously. Do you have any idea what it’s like to fall out of nowhere into this universe and only have a moldy-smelling grimoire as a tutorial?" She holds up the book, shaking it like a microwave manual. "It’s got rituals, spells, curses, even a recipe for rue tea with owl blood… but you know what it doesn’t have? A MAP. INSTRUCTIONS. Not even a sticky note saying: ‘Hi, Elara, welcome to Mystic Falls, watch out for the vampires in suits.’"

She sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Where’s my manual, huh? The welcome kit? At least a letter from the author? Because so far I’ve only figured out two things:
One — I’m a weird hybrid.
Two — Originals don’t have insurance for hit-and-runs or random wooden planks."

She snaps the grimoire shut, tosses it onto the pillow, and stares at the reader with a mix of indignation and sass.

"And the worst part? I don’t even know how I got here. Like… I woke up in this body, with this life that isn’t even mine, and someone said ‘good luck, darling, now run from century-old vampires.’ Can someone explain? Because I’m confused myself."

She flops back on the bed, covering her face with her hands.

"I just wanted peace, a little basic romance, maybe a slow burn with a fanfic-friendly kiss in the rain… but no. The writer decided: ‘Throw this redhead into hard mode and see if she survives.’"

She pulls her hands away, looks at the reader again, and gives a tired smile.

"Anyway. If I disappear, you know why: not drama. Just the script."

Author's Note:

Look, don’t judge Elara, okay? She’s just as lost as you are. 😅 I swear I gave her a grimoire to help, but apparently, it wasn’t enough. Maybe I’ll send the survival manual in the next chapter… or not. Hehe.

Chapter Text

Three Days Later – Salvatore Mansion

The sound of a video game controller being slammed against the buttons echoed through the mansion’s living room. Elara was sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a fluffy white towel that clearly came from the guest bathroom. Her still-wet hair dripped onto the expensive carpet as she shouted at the TV:

"Damon, your character is broken! There’s no way to beat that!"

"You stole my favorite controller and now you’re complaining?" Damon called back from the kitchen, opening a bottle of blood with a bored expression.

"I found it on the couch. Finders keepers," she said with a smile and a peace sign.
[Seriously, this logic only works for vampires and freeloaders.]

Bonnie, sitting on the other side of the room, watched with her arms crossed.

"Have you noticed you’re acting like you live here?"

Elara looked at her, holding a piece of bread with Nutella.

"Well, you let me stay. I’m just… adapting. Need emotional stability. And moisturizers. By the way, Damon’s has a sinful scent."

"I heard that!" Damon yelled from the kitchen, rolling his eyes.

Elara took a sip from a glass. Blood. Fresh blood. Clearly from Damon’s personal stash.

Bonnie’s eyes went wide.

"You’re drinking his blood?"

Elara shrugged.

"I don’t kill anyone. I don’t like feeding from the source. Bottled blood is more… vegan."
[If vampires were influencers, she’d be the first vegan in the group.]

She stood up, still holding the controller, and walked straight to the stairs, opening a random door.

"Whose room is this?"

"Mine," Stefan said, walking up behind her, his expression patient, one eyebrow raised.

"Ah, so this is where the Egyptian cotton clothes were hidden. I need a new top. 21st-century clothes are kinda hard for someone who just woke up…," she stopped just in time, "...into a new lifestyle."

Stefan sighed.

"Just don’t touch the leather jackets."

"No promises," she said, disappearing into the room with a smile.
[Priorities: first the look, then world destruction.]

Later, in the living room, Caroline had just arrived and was talking to Elena when Elara appeared, wearing one of Elena’s denim jackets over a Stefan T-shirt. Her hair was now in a messy bun, and her feet were in socks clearly belonging to Damon (one had a cartoon vampire print).

Caroline’s eyes went wide.

"Who is she?"

"Long story," Elena muttered. "But basically… she staked Elijah, now lives here, and acts like she’s always been part of the group."

Elara appeared beside them, holding out her hand to Caroline with a cheeky smile.

"Elara. Half vampire, half witch, totally adorable. And yes, I charge for spells. Nothing personal, just business."
[Yes, she’s already monetizing the apocalypse.]

Caroline looked at Bonnie, worried.

"She’s serious?"

"She has a price list," Bonnie said, handing over a piece of paper that read:

Basic protection spell – $50
Item enchantment – $70
Love problem fixer (no guarantees) – $100
Spell that might save your life – negotiable price

Caroline blinked.

"This is surreal."

"Mystic Falls, honey," Elara said, laughing and flopping onto the couch. "Here, any Tuesday is sudden death day."
[And Monday too, if Klaus is bored.]

A little later — Rose arrives

The mansion door swung open forcefully. Damon and Stefan exchanged glances as Rose entered, tense, still dusted with road grime on her leather coat. Her eyes widened seeing Elena and… Elara on the couch with a slice of pizza.

"You’re still alive?" Rose said, surprised, looking at the redhead.

"Depends on the point of view," Elara replied, chewing. "Inside, I’m collapsing. Outside, totally fine."
[The look of someone surviving danger who prefers pizza.]

Rose went straight to the point:

"Elijah will come back. And you have no idea who you’re dealing with."

"We already handled him," Damon said. "He got a stake from this little redhead here. It was awesome."

Rose ignored the comment and looked at Elena seriously.

"Elijah is just a messenger. A scared little bunny… compared to who’s really coming."

Everyone went silent.

"Klaus," Rose said, letting the name hang.

"What kind of name is that? Sounds like a German metal band," Elara commented, wrinkling her nose.

Rose continued:

"Klaus is an Original. The Original. Ancient, ruthless. He’s why Elijah wants the doppelgänger. Elena is key. But Klaus… he’s the end of the line."

"Okay. And Elijah is just the… bunny?" Elara repeated, tense.

"Yes. A bunny in a suit that kills you with a smile," Rose said, with humorless laughter.
[The most cute-lethal metaphor you’ll hear today.]

Elara swallowed hard.

"Cool. I staked the bunny. Now the wolf’s coming to bite everyone."

Bonnie looked at Rose seriously.

"How do we stop Klaus?"

"I don’t know," Rose replied, sitting down. "But you’ll need everything: allies, spells, and time. And believe me… you don’t have any of the three."

Silence. Until Elara slowly stood, grabbing a piece of paper from the grimoire and sticking it to the mansion fridge:

"Emergency spells now require deposit upfront."

Damon laughed.

"This girl’s gonna die here, but at least she’ll charge for it."

"Priorities," Elara said, snapping her fingers. "Be a freeloader, survive, and monetize the chaos. I’m basically ready to start a supernatural YouTube channel." [Subscribe and hit the bell.]

Post-Credit Scene

Elara sits on the couch, legs crossed, throwing glances at the camera — that is, at you, reader.

"Seriously, guys… becoming a freelance spellcaster in the middle of a supernatural war wasn’t in my life plan."
[Life plan included: sleep, eat pizza, ignore annoying vampires.]

She gestures dramatically, pushing the grimoire away.

"Do you think it’s glamorous to charge $100 to untangle a cursed romance? It’s not. It’s exhausting. And then there’s Klaus waiting… yes, the ruthless Original who will probably kill me before breakfast."

Elara sighs, grabs a slice of pizza, and looks at you with a crooked smile.

"But okay. At least I’m monetizing the chaos." [Because when life gives you vampires, you charge for them.]

She winks.

"Until the next catastrophe, my dear supernatural clients."

Author’s Note:

Guys, I have to say: Elara is the embodiment of freeloading lol. [Seriously, she arrived stealing towels, Nutella, and even Stefan’s leather jacket… someone stop this woman!]

And now we officially have a “bunny in a suit” and Klaus’s grand entrance. [Imagine her face when she realizes the wolf isn’t cute, but full-on ‘I’m destroying your entire life’ vibes.]

Notice that Elara isn’t really worried about saving Mystic Falls, right? She’s more concerned with monetizing collective disaster. [My spirit in character form, honestly.]

✨ So tell me: do you think she survives Klaus with that nerve, or will she become Mystic Falls statistics? 👀

Chapter Text

Author’s Note: Elara somehow manages to mix sass, chaos and entrepreneurial spirit while Mystic Falls just tries to survive another day.

Salvatore Mansion – The Morning After

The sun lazily filtered through the tall windows of the mansion. Damon was in the kitchen — as usual, messing with bourbon on an empty stomach — while Rose watched the light hit the curtains with mild discomfort. Daylight shone far too brightly for someone who didn’t have the luxury of an enchanted lapis lazuli ring.

Elara entered the room with a cup of coffee and a bathrobe that definitely belonged to Stefan. On her feet were slippers that… no one wanted to admit whose they were.

“Good morning, my lovely, cursed, trauma-filled people!” she sang as she passed Rose with a cheeky grin.

Rose merely nodded, visibly uncomfortable with the sunlight flooding the room.

Elara paused, glanced at her, and like a true businesswoman spotting an opportunity, said:

“You don’t have a daylight ring, do you?”

Rose raised an eyebrow, surprised by the observation.
“No. Never had one. My creator wasn’t exactly… affectionate.”

Elara smiled like someone watching opportunity knock on the door with a red ribbon.
“Well then, darling… maybe your days of trouble are numbered. Literally.”

She set the cup down on the table and pulled out a pendant from her robe, revealing a small, glowing blue stone.

“That is…?” Rose asked.

“Lapis lazuli. Original. Hand-enchanted. And by hand, I mean me. And yes, before you ask: it works with direct and indirect sunlight. You could even catch a tan if you’re brave enough.”

Rose looked at her, half skeptical, half impressed.
“And how much does it cost?”

Elara flashed a seller’s grin worthy of a luxury street vendor.
“A little pricier than the usual spells. Let’s say… sun pricing. But I accept stock blood as partial payment. The mystical economy is in crisis, you know.”

Rose gave a short laugh.
“You waste no time, do you?”

“Entrepreneurship is survival, darling. And here in Mystic Falls, those who don’t protect themselves… die pretty. But die nonetheless. And nobody wants to end up as glitter on the pavement.”

Author’s Note: Elara just summed up the collective trauma of the vampire community in one sentence.

Mystic Falls High School – Same Morning

Elara walked through the school corridors wearing a hoodie that tried (and failed) to hide her fiery hair and her I-have-no-patience-for-high-school expression. She had taken Elena’s class schedule as a “model” and forged her own record, using a light glamour spell. Discreet? As much as she could manage. But being here felt like stepping into a live episode.

She passed lockers where Caroline was barking orders about a cheerleading rehearsal. Farther down, Tyler was arguing with Matt about football practice. Bonnie was flipping through a book on the cafeteria stairs. And, of course, Alaric watched over the students with that tired-but-secretly-hunter stare.

Elara tried to look casual, but it was hard not to think:
If I mess up here, they’ll kill me before lunch. If I expose myself as reincarnated, my soul’s gone. If I use too much magic, I’ll be hunted. Too little… I’ll die anyway. Great. Survival plan still stands: act ‘quirky’.

She stopped in front of Bonnie, offering a sly smile.
“Hey, gorgeous. Need a spell today? I’ve got one to hide dark circles. And another to prevent dreams about your ex. Total hit.”

Bonnie narrowed her eyes.
“You know this isn’t Hogwarts, right?”

“Of course! Here, everyone dies long before graduation,” Elara replied as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “But still… appearances matter.”

Author’s Note: Elara’s brutal honesty should be declared cultural heritage.

Caroline appeared out of nowhere.
“Hi! You’re the new girl, right? The redhead living with the Salvatores?”

“The one and only,” Elara said, adjusting her hood like she didn’t want attention (but secretly loved it).

"They told me you staked an Original..”

Elara raised her hands defensively.
“Accident. Reflex. Brazilian self-defense instinct. I don’t teach it in spell class.”

“And you do custom spells?” Caroline asked, blinking like she didn’t want to admit she was interested.

Elara pulled a small notepad from her backpack.
“List of services and prices. Discount if you refer a friend. I accept cash, blood, or decent food. But no guarantees. If something explodes… client’s responsibility.”

Caroline skimmed the page, then looked at Bonnie.
“This is so… wrong. But so practical.”

Bonnie sighed.
“I still don’t trust her.”

“Neither do I,” came a male voice behind them. It was Alaric. Arms crossed, expression sharp.
“You showed up out of nowhere. You’re surrounded by magic. And you live with two suspicious vampires. Tell me why I shouldn’t hunt you?”

Elara took a deep breath.
“Because I’m useful. Because I know how to handle myself. And because… you live in a town where even the cell signal is cursed. Trust me? You don’t have to. But ignoring me? That would be stupid.”

Alaric arched an eyebrow, then turned and walked away without another word.

“Was that a compliment?” Elara asked, turning to Caroline.

“From him? Absolutely.”

Author’s Note: Congrats, Elara. If making Alaric half-smile were an Olympic sport, you’d already have gold.

– School Library, End of the Day

As the sun set outside, Elara sat in the back of the school library, reviewing her grimoire, when a freshman girl left her a note:
"My mom says there’s a spirit in our house. Can you get rid of it? I’ll pay with a silver necklace and rice cakes."

Elara smiled, pocketing the note. Business was growing. Survival and profit. Almost enough to forget Klaus was coming.

Almost.

The grimoire suddenly glowed faintly — a page reacting on its own. The word Klaus appeared over and over in magical runes, as if the book was trying to warn her:

He knows.

Author’s Note: And this is the exact moment when you close the book, pretend you didn’t see it, and go do some skincare. Priorities.

Post-Credit Scene

Damon appears, leaning against a wall, whiskey glass in hand, wearing a mischievous smile.
“So… you’re still here? Seriously? Post-credits? Who does that besides Marvel?”

He raises an eyebrow, takes a sip, and points directly at the reader.
“But since you stayed, congrats. That means you’re the kind who loves trouble… and me, of course.”

Elara shows up behind him, arms crossed.
“Damon, stop talking to yourself. You’re scaring the stragglers.”

“Talking to myself? Elara, please…” — he gestures dramatically — “I’m talking to them. The readers. The fans. The audience who prefers my sarcastic charm over Klaus’ drama.”

Elara rolls her eyes and tries to pull him away.
“Damon, enough.”

“Enough? No way!” — he wriggles free, grinning like a mischievous child. — “You guys want more, don’t you? More chaos, more sarcasm, more Originals losing their minds… Well, spoiler: you’re gonna get it. Because if there’s one thing I never do, it’s stay quiet.”

Elara sighs, already out of patience, and shoves Damon off-screen.
“Alright, show’s over.”

Damon’s voice still echoes as he’s dragged away:
“Over? Not a chance! ”

Chapter Text

Location: Salvatore Mansion Bathtub – Late Afternoon

The sound of water dripping echoed softly. Steam fogged the mirror. The bathtub was spacious and incredibly comfortable — probably imported from some European mansion in the 1800s. And at that moment, Elara was submerged up to her neck, wearing a face mask she had found in Damon’s bathroom, a towel wrapped around the top of her head, and a cup of warm blood resting on the sink like it was a fine wine.

She sighed, staring at the ceiling.

“Okay. Let’s recap…” she murmured, fingers lazily sliding along the edge of the tub.

Vampire strength? Pff… more like a supernatural version of Peppa Pig.
Compulsion? I just made an old man almost call the police.
Blood control? Partial.
Speed? I ran from a squirrel.
Stamina? My knees still hurt from punching that tree.

She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to calm down. But her mind wouldn’t stop.

“If I’m a hybrid… why don’t I feel everything? Why just the thirst, the teeth, and the glowing eyes? Where’s the super strength? Where’s the ‘I’m dangerous and mysterious’ part?”

She dipped her head a little, covering her ears with water, and when she surfaced again, she said:

“Hope Mikaelson…”

The name slipped out as a whisper.

She sat up a bit more, knees bent, water running down her arms.

“Hope is a tri-hybrid… born that way. But only her witch side worked at first, right? Her werewolf side only activated when…” — she paused — “…when she killed someone.”

Silence settled.

Elara frowned.

“And her vampire side would only wake if she died with vampire blood in her system.”

She pressed her fingers against her own arms.

“So… am I the same?”

A shiver ran down her spine.

“Could it be… that I’m still in ‘standby mode’? Only the witch side is active, and the vampire side is… dormant? Semi-charged?”

She looked at her own teeth in the mirror across the room. The fangs… they were there. Visible if she focused. The thirst for blood was real. The smell of wounds was unbearable. But…

“If I were a full vampire… I’d have killed someone by now. Real strength? I’ve only fed from bags. I haven’t died to activate anything.”

She fell silent for a few seconds. Then she pointed at the mirror.

This is a cursed script, okay? I didn’t sign up to end up in a world where dying is a tutorial for power activation. I just wanted to observe the characters, drink a soda at the Grill, and maybe glance at Damon from afar.

[I know you all would do the same, don’t lie to me 👀]

She lowered her head, pressing her forehead against her folded knees.

But what if… I really have to die? What if I have to kill? What if this hunger is just a warning of what’s coming?

The sound of the grimoire vibrating in the next room interrupted her thoughts. Elara jumped out of the tub like a startled cat.

“Ah, no, a vibrating living book is never good. Never good.”

She wrapped herself in the towel, slipped on the tile, and hobbled over to the grimoire, which was pulsating on the bed. Blue light leaked from the edges of the pages, as if it were… reacting to her.

With still-damp fingers, she opened it.

The next page had no spell. Instead, a magical message appeared on the paper, letter by letter, as if written by invisible hands.

Blood has been awakened.
Instinct recognizes the thirst.
But the transformation is not yet complete.
Activation… requires sacrifice.

Elara went pale.

“Sacrifice?”

She stepped back, the book still open, the sound of rain outside muffling the racing beat of her own heart.

“I won’t kill anyone. I… I’m not that. I’m not a monster.”

But part of her knew something was growing inside. Something she still didn’t understand. That thirst wasn’t just physical — it was magical, ancestral, maybe even… designed.

She slammed the book shut and spoke to the empty room:

“I’m not activating anything like this. Not even if my grimoire turns into a glitter bomb.”

And then, in a quieter voice, she muttered:

“Unless… I have no choice.”

Final Scene – Salvatore Mansion, Balcony

Later that night, Elara was sitting on the balcony railing of the mansion, wrapped in a blanket, hair still damp. Damon appeared out of nowhere, leaning against the doorframe with a drink in his hand.

“What now, little red? Attacked another tree?” he asked.

She smiled faintly.

“I’m just… thinking. Trying to understand what I am. What I’m missing.”

Damon took a thoughtful sip.

“Look… from what I’ve seen, you’ve got a sharp tongue, sharp sarcasm, sharp teeth… that already puts you in the top 10 most dangerous creatures in this town.”

“Missing the part where I can run without tripping.”

“That improves over time. And… sometimes, with trauma.” — He sipped. — “Power comes with pain. Always has here.”

Elara looked up at the sky. Clouds hid the stars.

“Do I have to die… to know what I really am?”

Damon studied her more seriously. For the first time, he spoke without a joke.

“I hope not. But if it happens… at least there will be someone to bring you back. This town loves a good resurrection.”

Elara laughed, but her eyes remained serious.

Maybe… being an incomplete hybrid is the least of my problems.
Because what comes with activation… might be something I can’t control.

Mini Post-Credits – Salvatore Mansion, Balcony, a Few Minutes Later

Damon appeared out of nowhere again, leaning on the doorframe with the drink still in his hand, now wearing a towel around his waist (yes, obviously, he would be dramatic and sexy at the same time).

“So… you spent the entire afternoon whining in the tub about being an incomplete hybrid, and now you’re out here, philosophizing about death and sacrifice?” — he raised an eyebrow.

Elara rolled her eyes.
“Damon, I’m not whining. I’m reflecting deeply.”

“Sure, sure. Reflecting, huh? Like ‘oh my God, power sleeps in me and I don’t even know how to play vampire’” — he took a sip, smirking.

“I’d prefer if you kept quiet.” — She gestured dramatically with her hand, almost hitting his drink.

“Or I can continue commenting that you look like a wet cat trying to be dangerous.” — Damon crossed his arms, grinning.

“Damon!” — She stepped toward him, but he just backed a step. “Shut up, or I’ll turn you into a goldfish!”

“Ah, now I’m scared.” — He shrugged, amused. “But seriously, Elara… you’re so intense even my hangovers fear you.”

She huffed, and he took a final sip before disappearing down the hall, leaving Elara sighing and staring into the void.

[Author’s Note: readers, you understand that Damon lets nothing slide, right? He’s like a permanent reality show commentator in other people’s lives. And yes, Elara trying to shut him up was epic. I loved writing it and you guys will laugh just as much as I did.]

Chapter Text

Location: Forest on the outskirts of Mystic Falls – two days later

The ground was damp, covered with leaves, and the air smelled of wet earth and aged wood. Elara stood in the center of a clearing, sweating in an old hoodie and borrowed training pants from Elena (with a suspicious rip at the knee). On her feet, sneakers that were definitely taken without Stefan's permission.

She dropped her backpack to the ground with a thud. From inside, she pulled out the grimoire, a spiral notebook with a glitter cover, and a pen with a purple pom-pom on top.

"Okay, Elara. You're a vampire. And a witch. But are you the real deal... or just a luxury extra in this whole mess?"

She sat on a log and opened the notebook:

✔️ Priority List: Mystic Survival Mode

Find out if I'm strong like Klaus or weak like Jeremy in season one.

Train compulsion. Watching Damon use it was fun. Doing it? Chaos.

Learn to control the thirst. Spoiler: it's horrible.

Avoid biting people by accident.

Redo anti-acne spell from the grimoire. The previous witch didn’t moisturize.

Remember what happens in season two without freaking out.

She sighed.

"Okay, Klaus only shows up physically in episode twenty… which means he's already spying around here. Elijah is still loose, probably swearing vengeance. Bonnie's going to be overloaded. Damon will freak out over something stupid. Stefan will try to play peacemaker. And me… I'm the NPC turning into a playable character."

She closed the notebook, stood up, and took a deep breath.

"Alright. Let's test strength first."

She turned to a small tree. Took a breath. Ran. Tried to punch the trunk.

Result?

"Agh! Ow, damn it!" she yelled, jumping back and shaking her hand. "That wasn’t hybrid strength. That was anemic student strength!"

She massaged her fingers, grumbling.

"Klaus probably broke his first oak tree with an elbow strike. Me? I can’t even break a dry branch."

Still, she persisted.

She tried running. Very fast. The best she could manage was tripping over her own feet and face-planting in the mud.
Tried jumping between logs. Slipped.
Tried listening for distant sounds. Managed to pick up the noise of a squirrel farting.

[Author's Note: That’s it. Her superpower is selective animal flatulence hearing. Marvel, hire me.]

"Okay. Supernatural strength… nope. Enhanced hearing? Maybe. Ninja skills? Only if we’re talking Naruto falling down the stairs."

Hours later – Forest, still

Hunger began to kick in. Vampire hunger — unlike anything else. A pit in her stomach, a thirst in her bones. Elara's eyes burned. Her fangs threatened to extend by instinct.

She dropped to her knees on the grass.

"In the series, it looked so easy! Damon drank, wiped his mouth, and went dancing. I look like a rabid cat with no snack."

She trembled. Her breathing was uneven.

She opened the grimoire with difficulty and pulled out a hospital blood bag she had stashed away — courtesy of Damon’s "special supply."

She took a sip. Cough.

"Ugh! Cold. Tastes like old coins!"

Even so, she kept going. And the instinct began to yield.

"Okay. This. Control. I got this…"

Her body relaxed. Her eyes returned to normal. Her fangs retracted.

She exhaled, sitting against a rock.

"Okay… drinking blood without killing anyone: partial success. Control: in progress. Style? Zero. I look like a lunatic in the woods with cursed grape juice."

Later – Dirt road near the highway

Elara walked back toward civilization when she saw an old man walking his dog.

She stopped, took a deep breath.

"Okay. Now, compulsion. Let’s see if all that visual training watching Damon for seven seasons paid off."

She approached the man with a gentle smile.

"Hi! I… got lost. Can you tell me the way to town?"

The man stopped. "Of course. You’re going to go—"

"You will forget you saw me today," said Elara, staring firmly into his eyes, trying to focus her mind.

The man blinked. Tilted his head.

"Miss, are you okay? Was that… a pickup line?"

Elara choked. "No! No! It was compulsion! Forget I exist! PLEASE!"

"Are you threatening a witness? I’m calling the police."

"No, sir! I’m a drama student! It was just a scene! Full improvisation!"

She bolted, tripping over a root.

"Aaaaaah! Damn TV sold me compulsion like a YouTube tutorial!"

[Author's Note: Pretty sure the algorithm would recommend ‘10 compulsion tricks Damon doesn’t want you to know.’]

Later – Salvatore mansion bathroom

Elara lay in the bathtub, still covered in mud and leaves, notebook balanced on the edge.

She scribbled:

✅ Find out if I'm strong like Klaus → NO.

✅ Compulsion → Disaster.

✅ Control thirst → 70% success.

🧹Note: Need a mentor. Or a real tutorial. Or a miracle.

She closed her eyes.

"You’re in a world where everything kills and nothing comes with a guarantee. But you’re a Brazilian witch-vampire. You’ll figure it out."

"Tomorrow, new mission: get more blood, avoid being hunted, and try compulsion again without sounding like a pushy phone plan salesperson."

She sank into the water and murmured:

"And maybe… just maybe… ask Damon if he gives private lessons."

[Author's Note: Plot twist: Damon does, but he charges in bourbon bottles and unlimited patience — which means impossible.]

Chapter Text

Location: Mystic Falls High School – Library, Late Afternoon

The school library was strangely quiet, the muffled sound of footsteps echoing through the aisles. Elara was flipping through a history book for appearances only — the grimoire was well hidden in her backpack under the table, and a small blood packet discreetly wrapped in foil rested next to a little water bottle [yes, survival first, uniform cleanliness second].

Bonnie walked in smiling, and right behind her… Luka Martin.

Tall, charming, perfectly styled hair, and that vibe of “I’m nice but might poison you on the third date.” Elara froze for 0.3 seconds, then slowly slid her eyes toward Bonnie with a look that said, “girl, this is the start of the spin-off of suffering” [reader, seriously, can you smell the drama in the air too?].

“Elara,” Bonnie said excitedly, “this is Luka. He just moved to town. He’s also… one of us.”

“A wizard,” Luka added with a friendly smile, extending his hand.

Elara shook it, measuring his energy like she was testing suspicious food.

“A wizard. How… convenient. Because Mystic Falls really needed more mystery, right?”

Luka chuckled.

“You’re a witch too?”

“Among other things,” she replied, forcing a smile. “Like a magical combo with side effects included [yes, deluxe witchcraft with bonus trauma].”

Bonnie smiled, unaware of the sudden tension in Elara’s eyes. Luka seemed calm, but there was a strange gleam in his gaze. A presence too contained.

Elara knew that look.

“This boy is acting exactly like the infiltrating villain halfway through the season” [mental note: traumatized writer detecting danger in 3, 2, 1…].

She forced a smile and turned to Bonnie.

“Can I talk to you? Quick. Something… girl-sorcery related.”

Bonnie furrowed her brow, confused, but nodded. The two moved to a corner between the shelves.

“He’s hot, right?” Bonnie said. “And super nice! He said his dad is an anthropology professor. They’re only here for a few months.”

Elara’s eyes widened.

“Bonnie. You just described the beginning of the century’s greatest evil plan. He’s handsome, polite, mysterious, and you think that’s good?”

“And it’s not?”

“NO!” Elara whispered, grabbing her friend’s arm. “This guy… he’s here for a reason. I have no proof, but I have the instinct of a traumatized screenwriter” [reader, do you trust our hybrid’s instincts or think she’s losing it?].

Bonnie raised an eyebrow.

“You’re acting weird. Just because he’s new?”

“No. Because this ‘new friend’ is looking at you like you’re… a strategic asset on a supernatural secret mission. And I bet he’s after the Moonstone.”

Bonnie frowned, now more serious.

“How do you know that?”

Elara froze. Oops.

“…Witch intuition. Premonition. And, like, he gives off ‘mystical alignment’ vibes at dinner” [okay, maybe I exaggerate, but what if I’m not wrong?].

Bonnie still didn’t look convinced.

“He helped me with a spell yesterday. Didn’t try anything weird.”

“That’s how they do it! First, they come with ‘look, I can conjure sparkles,’ then… BAM! They complicate your life.”

Back at the table, Luka was picking up a spellbook from the school collection, flipping through it like he was looking for… something specific.

Elara narrowed her eyes.

“He’s after something. I bet it’s for someone. And if it’s for who I think…”

She paled.

“The little bunny in a suit is in town.” — she whispered to herself. — Elijah. He’s back. I’d bet my grimoire.

Bonnie looked at her, confused.

“Who?”

Elara’s eyes widened, mouth locked.

“No one! A nickname. Just a personal code!”

She grabbed her phone and pretended to type, but she was opening her notes app. She wrote:

“🔥 ALERT: Luka and his dad are with Elijah.
Target: Bonnie.
Use: Moonstone.
Consequence: end of the world, probably.
Plan: freak out without exposing that I know too much.”

Bonnie grabbed her phone with a suspicious look.

“You wrote all that in 10 seconds?”

“I have nimble fingers. I’m a witch. A hybrid. Don’t doubt my multitasking” [reader, admire the efficiency with dramatic flair].

Next Scene – Salvatore Mansion, Night

Elara stormed into the mansion library, shouting:

“HE’S HERE! THE BUNNY IS IN TOWN! AND HE HAS A LITTLE WIZARD SPY!”

Damon, Stefan, and Rose stared at her with the calm of those who had witnessed multiple freak-outs.

“Translation, please,” Stefan said.

“Luka. New student. Cute. Little wizard. Pretends to be good. Works for Elijah.”

Rose widened her eyes.

“Elijah…?”

“Yes! The bunny in a suit! Who almost killed me. Now he has an assistant disguised as a cute teen! It’s like Mean Girls, but with necromancy!”

Damon raised an eyebrow from the couch.

“Are you sure?”

“I have screenwriter instincts, okay? When something smells like betrayal, my nose itches.”

Rose paced.

“If Elijah is really here… and spying through Luka… he’s close to completing the plan.”

“And what plan is that?” Stefan asked, tense.

Elara pointed.

“Klaus. The real problem. The ultimate monster. The ‘final RPG boss.’ Elijah wants to hand the Moonstone to Klaus. Luka and his dad will help. Bonnie’s doomed” [reader, deep breath, the spin-off is intense].

Silence.

Damon whistled.

“And all this based on… female intuition?”

“And prophetic sarcasm. And seven seasons of memory” [yes, and I swear she’s not losing it… much].

Rose looked at Stefan.

“We need to keep Bonnie away from Luka.”

“And I need more blood,” murmured Elara. “Because if Elijah shows up in front of me again, and I have to stake another Original, I want to be hydrated.”

Damon laughed.

“This girl is going to start a war. And I’ll be front row with popcorn” [excellent vision, Damon, I’ll accept reader comments on the front row too].

Elara sighed, grabbing her grimoire.

“The war has already started. We just don’t know who will fall first yet.”

Mini Post-Credits – Salvatore Mansion, Balcony at Night

Damon leaned against the balcony doorframe, drink in hand, smiling like someone who knows too much.

“So… the hybrid freaked out, went into traumatized screenwriter mode, and now thinks the entire school is a supernatural minefield?” — he said, sipping and raising an eyebrow.

Elara, wrapped in a blanket, made a “don’t provoke me or I’ll bite you” face.

“Damon… if you say one word about anything I just said, I swear…” — she gestured dramatically — “…I’ll make you forget blood exists in this town.”

Damon laughed. Really laughed.

“Ah, I love your mix of danger and teenage drama. But… seriously, you’re telling me you trust your instincts more than any ancient vampire?”

“I trust my instincts more than I trust your sense of responsibility,” she retorted, crossing her arms.

“Touched,” he said, feigning indignation. “But don’t be fooled, redhead: I know everything. Always.”

“Then shut up!” Elara shouted, pulling the blanket to her chin. “Or I swear I’ll make you drink grape juice mixed with hospital blood bag!”

Damon raised a hand in surrender, still laughing.

“Okay, okay… but don’t hide your secrets for too long. I know chaos, blood, and probably some magical explosions are coming tomorrow.”

“Maybe…” Elara murmured, eyes shining with sarcasm and fear at the same time. “But that’s between me, the grimoire… and the reader.” [hello you there, laughing at my suffering? Welcome to the club!]

Damon took a last sip, sighed, and walked away.

“I already said I love being the spectator of your personal war, right? Popcorn included.”

Elara rolled her eyes.

“Great… at least someone will enjoy it when I turn into an uncontrollable monster.”

[Author’s Note: reader, are you also imagining Damon laughing at our hybrid and trying not to interfere? Yeah, I’m laughing too, but seriously she’s just getting started.]

Mini Episode – Salvatore Mansion, Compulsion Training Afternoon

Elara was in the living room, staring at Stefan, who was calmly reading on the couch, completely unaware of her presence. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and murmured:

“Okay, Elara… mind control. Just a little selective memory, just to test. Don’t break anything… yet.”

She slowly extended her hand.

“Forget you saw me today!”

Stefan blinked, raised an eyebrow, but kept reading.

“ARGH!” — Elara muttered. — “The YouTube tutorial said it works easily!”

Damon appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a mischievous smile on his face:

“So… you’re trying to control a vampire’s mind?” [reader, imagine my drama watching this]

“Damon, shut up!” — she whispered, concentrating. — “Or I’ll make you forget you like bourbon.”

“Good luck…” — he murmured, laughing. — “This is going to be fun.”

Elara took a deep breath and tried again, more focused. This time, she extended her hand toward Rose, who was passing by with a book.

“Forget you saw me today!” — she said, more forcefully.

Rose stopped abruptly, blinked confused, and looked at Elara.

“Uh… I… saw nothing.” — she blinked.

Elara stepped back, triumphant:

“IT WORKED!” — she cheered, hopping slightly. — “First victim. Training approved.”

Damon laughed loudly.

“First victim? [this is starting to look like a video game tutorial, reader] You’re becoming the master of compulsions, but careful… what if someone hits replay in real life?”

“Careful?” — Elara retorted, crossing her arms. — “I’m a hybrid. Danger included.”

“Yes, hybrid… and now… professor of mind manipulation!” — he winked, taking a sip of bourbon.

“And you’re just the sarcastic spectator,” she rolled her eyes. “Ah, reader… imagine the fun when I mess up a spell and make Damon forget he’s immortal.”

[Author’s Note: seriously, would you also be laughing if you were watching Elara attempt compulsion live? Because I’m imagining it and I can’t stop laughing.]

Chapter Text

Location: Mystic Falls High School – next day, biology lab

The old fan hummed while Elara watched Luka through the reflection of a glass incubator. He was sitting beside Bonnie, the two of them exchanging discreet smiles while scribbling in their notebooks. Just an ordinary organic chemistry class. But to Elara, the scene looked like some kind of shady perfume commercial.

She pretended to focus on her own experiment, mixing substances in a test tube, but her eyes never left him. When Luka got up to grab more reagent, she slid closer to Bonnie with a casual smile.

“Hey, B. Everything all chemical around here?”

Bonnie smiled.

“So far, yeah. Luka’s really good at this. He helps me understand the subject without even making it feel like studying.”

Elara almost rolled her eyes, but restrained herself.

“Uh-huh... super natural.”

[That was basically shade in neon lights.]

Bonnie raised a brow.

“You still don’t like him, do you?”

“I just think it’s way too convenient that some hot warlock suddenly shows up right when you guys are digging into the Moonstone curse. Like, Mystic Falls people have the worst timing.”

[Seriously, no one in this town knows how to enter quietly. It’s always mid-drama.]

Before Bonnie could answer, Luka came back. Elara immediately shifted into fake-friendly mode.

“Hey, Luke! Can I call you Luke? Shorter, less I’m-casting-a-spy-spell.”

Luka gave her a polite smile.

“Sure, no problem.”

“Cool, cool.” She pointed at his lab badge. “Wow, nice handwriting. My last badge looked like it was written by a possessed chicken.”

Bonnie chuckled.

Luka eyed Elara, assessing her intentions.

“You’re a witch too, right?”

“Hybrid. Vampiwand. Witchpire. Still workshopping the name.”

[I already want a T-shirt that says ‘Official Witchpire of Mystic Falls.’]

Luka seemed surprised but hid it well.

“Interesting. Not something you see every day.”

Elara grinned.

“Definitely not. But, you know... moms in love with vampires do all sorts of things.” She winked. “Including making magical babies.”

Luka chuckled politely, but something in his eyes hardened.

Gotcha, sneaky boy. You know more than you’re letting on.

Later – School library

Elara walked in with the grimoire hidden inside a pink Hello Kitty binder. A flawless disguise.

[Even a thousand-year-old vampire would walk past thinking it’s just algebra homework.]

She sat in a corner and cast a light protection spell around the table — the kind that blocked sound but didn’t set off other witches.

Opening the grimoire, she whispered:

“Magiae sigillum... trace vinculum... revelare intercessores...”

A blue flame danced over the pages. Invisible lines began to form — a web of magical connections nearby.

And there it was: a thin thread linking Luka to Bonnie, and deeper still... a dark mark connecting him to Elijah Mikaelson.

“Knew it!” she whispered, eyes wide.

But when she tried to push the spell further, it backfired. The grimoire trembled, energy flaring.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” Elara tried to undo it, but too late.

A burst of energy shot from the book and hit a pile of library books — which silently burst into flames.

“SHIT!” She quickly put it out with a makeshift water spell, drenching half her binder and jeans. “Great moment to find out my tracking magic is the ‘explode first, ask later’ kind.”

[Somebody hand Elara a “Dollar Store Harry Potter” award, because this girl is a pro at glitch spells.]

She hurried to close the book. But her eyes stuck to the notes she managed to save:

Luka → Bonnie = Active magical bond

Luka → Elijah = Ancestral submission mark

Moonstone = Convergence point

Klaus = Closing in

“He’s using Bonnie. And she doesn’t even see it.”

Next scene – Salvatore mansion, at night

Elara came in with damp hair from her magic-water disaster and tossed the soaked grimoire onto the couch. Damon raised an eyebrow from the piano.

“Rough day, little Frankenstein?”

“Found out Luka’s Elijah’s spy, tried to trace the bond, blew up the library shelf, and nearly fried my left eyebrow.”

“Congrats. First stage of wild witchcraft: destroying public property.” He handed her a glass of bourbon. “Want one?”

“Blood. On the rocks. And maybe a little liquid hope.”

[Honestly, same. I’d order ‘liquid hope’ at the bar too.]

Stefan walked in, looking concerned.

“What did you find out?”

Elara sighed, grabbed a pen, and scribbled on a napkin:

Luka = Double agent

Target = Bonnie

Goal = Moonstone

Client = Elijah

Problem = Everyone but me is falling for his act

“We need to tell Bonnie,” Stefan said.

Elara stayed quiet.

“Not yet. She trusts him. If I go in accusing... I’ll just look like the jealous villain.”

[Spoiler: Mystic Falls is basically a bloody soap opera.]

“So what’s the plan?”

“Sabotage from the inside. Give him enough rope. Spy back. And maybe... play dumb so he lets his guard down.”

Damon smirked.

“Finally, someone here playing like a true Salvatore.”

Elara rolled her eyes.

“I’m freelance. Only saving your asses ‘cause this is where I’m crashing.”

“And the part about Klaus closing in?” Stefan asked.

Elara grew serious. And very softly, she answered:

“He already knows I’m here.”

Silence.

The grimoire trembled by itself on the table.

Final scene – Luka, at home, with his father

“She suspects. The hybrid girl.”

“Keep getting closer to Bonnie,” his father said, resting a hand on the table. “Elijah wants the Moonstone. But maybe... maybe this redhead girl is more important than we thought.”

[Translation: Elijah just unlocked a new level of headache called ‘nosy redhead.’]

Chapter Text

School Library, late afternoon

The sunlight streamed through the tall library windows, painting the dusty shelves in a soft golden glow. Three students sat secluded at a table in the back, surrounded by books, dried herbs, and magical candles that did a decent job of masking how serious this really was.

Bonnie Bennett closed her eyes, hands hovering over the Moonstone. Her face was serene but focused. Beside her, Luka murmured a prayer in low Latin — and Elara, sitting in the corner, pretended to be focused on “keeping the energy stable.”

In reality, she was discreetly sabotaging.

Under the sleeve of her jacket, hidden from view, she traced an ancient symbol of magical confusion, one that disrupted energy flows and caused interference in channeled rituals.

“Ancora frangitur… resisto lumen…” — she whispered, barely audible, while drawing the final stroke with her fingernail into the corner of the desk.

A small invisible spark jumped from the symbol and touched Bonnie’s spell.

The candle cracked.

[who hasn’t sabotaged a casual Tuesday ritual, right?]

Bonnie gasped softly, eyes flying open. The Moonstone quivered on the table.

“?” — Luka grabbed her arm.

“I’m fine… just… it was like the spell backfired for a second. A weird energy rebound…”

Elara leaned in with fake surprise.

“That’s what I thought too! Maybe it was just… I don’t know, a focus imbalance? Because that stone is packed with ancient energy, right?”

[translation: “wasn’t me, but it was totally me”]

Luka gave her a sharper look now. His eyes darkened for a brief second — a flicker of magic contained within.

“Yeah. Maybe. Or maybe someone deliberately disrupted the process.”

Elara forced a laugh.

“Luka, please. I can barely summon a breeze. And you think I’m here pulling off sabotage with advanced spellwork? That’d have to be some kind of accidental witch reflex.”

Bonnie chuckled, relieved.

“It’s fine. Let’s pick it up tomorrow. I just need some rest.”

Elara carefully picked up the candle. But inside, she thought:

First sabotage: complete. Level up: magical ninja.

[+5 sarcasm unlocked]

Salvatore Mansion, night

The sound of ice clinking in a glass echoed through the living room. Damon lounged on the sofa, bourbon in hand, watching Elara stroll in with a carefully casual expression. Stefan was near the fireplace, leafing through a journal.

“So?” — Stefan asked directly. — “Did it work?”

Elara tossed her backpack to the floor and collapsed onto the couch next to Damon, pulling off her sneakers with a dramatic sigh.

“Yes and no. I discreetly sabotaged their ritual, Bonnie got dizzy, Luka got suspicious, and I walked out unharmed. In other words: a normal Monday.”

[normal for them = pure chaos, obviously]

Damon raised his glass in a mock toast.

“Impressive. Most people barely survive their first group spell without a nervous breakdown or an eyebrow singed off.”

“I almost singed my soul, which is way more internal and less visible,” — Elara muttered.

Stefan stepped closer.

“They’ll try again.”

“Which is exactly why we need to get ahead,” — Elara said. — “What if we make an illusory copy of the Moonstone?”

Damon looked at her with genuine interest.

“A fake moon rock? I like it. Fake enough to mislead, magical enough to look authentic.”

[Damon would 100% buy that on Amazon]

“I can try. It’ll take a few ingredients… and maybe some of Caroline’s sweat, since she’s more powerful than she admits.”

Stefan hesitated.

“Elijah won’t like this.”

“That’s his problem,” — Elara shot back. — “He’s already scheming behind everyone’s backs. I’m just getting ahead of the game.”

Martin House, later

Jonas Martin sat before an old map, drawing lines with charcoal while muttering in Latin. Luka approached with a grave expression.

“She sabotaged the spell.”

Jonas looked up.

“Are you sure?”

“I felt it. She redirected Bonnie’s energy at the last second. Then she masked it as a concentration slip.”

Jonas pressed his lips into a thin line.

“The hybrid knows more than she lets on.”

He stood and pulled an ancient grimoire from the shelf.

“Elijah thought she was just a secondary piece. But now… we may need to test how far her power goes. And her loyalty too.”

[warning: surprise test incoming, and it’s not multiple choice]

Elara’s room, midnight

Moonlight spilled through the window. Elara sat cross-legged on the bed, grimoire open in her lap. The pages once damp from the earlier sabotage were now dry, humming with a low, steady energy.

She flipped idly through them… until something slipped out.

A piece of ancient parchment. It hadn’t been there before.

Her hands trembled as she picked it up. The handwriting was elegant, inked in black, with faint dried blood at the edges.

You’re pulling at threads too old.
What is stitched with blood
doesn’t unravel with child’s tricks.
— E.

Elara froze.

Elijah.

She clutched the paper tight, heart racing.

“So you do know that I know…”

From the grimoire, a cold breeze rustled the pages.

The silent war had begun.

[author-approved cliffhanger: good luck sleeping now, dear reader 😏]

Post-credits scene — “Between Spells and Microwaves”

The Salvatore kitchen was utterly quiet… until the insistent beep of the microwave shattered the mood.

Elara opened the door, pulling out a steaming bowl of instant noodles. She sat on the counter, eating with a spoon, the grimoire of ridiculously dangerous spells spread open beside her like it was just a recipe book.

“Hmm… a life-force amplification spell or chicken-flavored ramen? Tough call.”

She flipped through a page full of ancient symbols and scribbled with a ballpoint pen next to the main rune: “add scallions.”

Suddenly, Damon walked in, grabbing a bottle of bourbon. He eyed the scene with one raised eyebrow.

“You do know that’s a thousand-year-old grimoire, right? Not a seasoning notebook.”

Elara shrugged, stuffing her mouth with noodles.

“So what? If anyone catches me, I’ll just say it’s my magical cookbook: ‘How Not to Blow Up the Kitchen in 10 Easy Steps’.”

Damon huffed, almost laughing, and left.

Elara stayed there, staring at Elijah’s ominous parchment still lying open on the table.

She shoved another spoonful of ramen in her mouth and muttered:

“Bring it on, Elijah. I fight better on a full stomach.”

[credits roll with epic music… over the sound of noodles being slurped]

Chapter Text

Salvatore Mansion, basement

Bonnie walked down the steps slowly, her eyes scanning the room with suspicion. Elara was already waiting, seated in front of a makeshift table cluttered with books, candles, and a dull gray stone replica — which honestly looked more like a painted potato.

Damon leaned against the wall, sipping blood mixed with vodka.

"Someone gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to start psychological torture?"

Elara took a deep breath. She knew Bonnie wasn’t the type to trust easily — especially after being burned by so many so-called “magical allies.”

"...we need to talk. Like, seriously. No jokes. No drama... well, maybe a little drama, but with purpose."

Bonnie crossed her arms.

"Talk."

Elara hesitated, then blurted it out:

"Luka’s on Elijah’s side."

The silence hit like a punch.

Bonnie’s brows knitted together.

"That’s absurd. He’s helping me. He’s kind. He..."

"...is using you," Elara finished quietly. "I saw the magical link between him and his father. And his father’s bloodline is tied to Elijah. They’re not here to help Mystic Falls. They’re after the Moonstone. And you’re just... the magical battery."

[oh, Bonnie… heartbreak but make it witchcraft]

Bonnie blinked rapidly. The shock washed across her face in waves. She bit her lip.

"How do you know this?"

"Tracking magic. Concealed. I altered the flow in your spell and caught the traces. Nearly burned off my eyebrow in the process, so trust me — this isn’t a guess. It’s a fact."

Damon raised his glass in agreement.

"Redhead’s not lying. The kid’s in on it. His dad reeks of magical blackmail from a mile away."

Bonnie looked away. Too proud to cry there. Too strong to pretend it didn’t sting.

"So... what do we do?"

Elara pulled back a cloth, revealing the poorly painted stone replica.

"We make a fake Moonstone. A convincing magical illusion. They take the bait... we buy time."

Bonnie stepped closer, examining the forgery.

"This won’t fool an experienced witch."

"But it might fool an arrogant one," Elara shot back. "If we layer it with illusory seals and ancestral distortion magic, they won’t notice until it’s too late."

"You can pull that off?" Bonnie asked, more focused now.

Elara smirked.

"I can if you help me. Real partnership."

Bonnie slowly nodded.

"Fine. Let’s screw them over."

Damon grinned wide.

"Now this I like. Witches teaming up for mystical crime. Love it."

[Damon should really start a company called ‘Chaos & Co.’]

Later, in the basement

The air buzzed with energy. A magic circle was drawn on the floor with chalk, salt, and crow’s blood (stolen from one of Bonnie’s jars clearly labeled not for unauthorized use).

Elara stood in the center, clutching the Moonstone replica. Bonnie whispered protective words while Damon watched with his arms crossed.

"If this blows up," Damon muttered, "I’m gonna need more blood. And maybe house insurance."

"It’s not going to blow up," Bonnie said firmly. "It’s going to work. Elara... now."

Elara began chanting the distortion spell:

"Illusum materiae... transfigura... visum veritatis..."

The replica started glowing, a faint blue identical to the real Moonstone. Fake cracks appeared. The texture of magic shifted. For a second, it looked like they’d nailed it.

Bonnie raised her hands to seal the spell.

"There."

The energy settled. Elara exhaled.

"The forgery’s alive."

"Now we just plant it somewhere they’ll find it," Damon said, "and sit back for the show."

Bonnie glanced at Elara with newfound respect.

"Thanks... for telling me."

Elara shrugged.

"Didn’t do it for friendship. Did it for survival. And because you feed me and don’t ask too many questions when I borrow your hairbrush."

Damon burst out laughing.

Bonnie smirked.

"Either way... I’m in."

[and thus was born the most unlikely duo since coffee and bourbon]

Martin house, in the dark

Jonas ran a hand over a mystical map. Eyes closed, he tried to sense the Moonstone.

"It’s close. Brighter. More alive. Something has changed."

Luka walked in, frowning.

"You sure?"

"Yes. They tampered with it. Or... they’re trying to hide something."

Jonas opened his eyes, fire in his gaze.

"We’ll find out soon enough."

[translation: things are about to go very, very wrong next chapter]

Post-credits scene — “Magical Copyright Contract”

Elara’s room was dark except for the bluish glow of her laptop on the bed. She typed furiously into a document titled:

“TERMS OF USE: Sabotage Plans by Elara™”

She stopped, read aloud:

"Article 1: Every time I come up with a brilliant, dramatic, or explosion-risking idea, I am entitled to emotional royalties, payment in food, and at least one honorable mention in the end credits."

She sighed, chewing on her pen cap.

"Seriously, everyone milks my genius and I don’t even get a coupon code for synthetic blood. Not even a freebie."

Suddenly, Damon appeared at the door, peeking in.

"What are you doing, Red?"

Elara snapped the laptop shut so fast she nearly broke the screen.

"Nothing! Just... suing the authors of this fanfic for unauthorized use of my intellectual property."

Damon raised a brow, clearly amused.

"Good luck. If you find a lawyer in this universe, call me. I need to sue Stefan for stealing my bourbon."

He walked off laughing.

Elara reopened the laptop, typing again.

"Article 2: If anyone turns my lines into fandom inside jokes, I get 10% of the fanart."

She hit enter with dramatic flair, looked at the imaginary camera, and muttered:

"It’s the least I deserve."

[credits roll with the sound of a typewriter, as text appears on screen: “Elara is currently in union negotiations with the author”]

Chapter Text

Forest of Mystic Falls, dusk

The sky was already turning orange when Elara and Bonnie reached the clearing. The place was remote enough for no one to accidentally stumble upon the ritual — meaning, no drama-thirsty teens or deranged vampires around (in theory).

Bonnie carefully held the replica of the Moonstone. The object pulsed faintly, as if alive. Elara looked around, placing small crystals on the trees — discreet, almost invisible. Each carried a monitoring spell, triggered by magical proximity.

"Well," murmured Elara with a small smile, "you really did weave a reverse spell into the illusion?"

Bonnie didn’t look at her. She kept her eyes on the “stone” in silence. Her voice, however, was steady.

"He tampered with my magic. With me. He used trust as a channel."

She set the stone in the center of the clearing and began tracing the activation circle around it with vervain and sacred charcoal.

"The spell will trigger on physical contact," she explained. "He’ll feel a magical shockwave. Nothing lethal… it’ll just hurt. A lot. Maybe nausea, blurred vision, and regret."

Elara whistled.

"Tragic. I almost feel bad. Almost."

Bonnie raised her eyes at her.

"And you, don’t you want to put your mark on it too?"

"Already did." — She pointed at the grimoire hidden in her bag. — "A seal of magical disorientation. If he tries to track or drain energy from the replica, the illusion collapses — and explodes. A little. Just some mystical sparks. Nothing arm-ripping. I think."

[author’s note: Elara always on that “trust me, it’ll work” vibe… and it never works 100%]

Bonnie let out a tired, but genuinely amused sigh.

"You know, you’re kind of annoying… but functional."

"I’ll take that as a compliment. Shall we?"

The two of them backed away, hiding behind the trees. Bonnie activated one last visual disguise seal, cloaking the site with a “gradual discovery” spell.

"When someone with magical intent approaches… the stone will reveal itself. As if it were calling them."

Elara smirked.

"Let’s hope Luka’s in ‘greedy witch’ mode. This is gonna be a show."

A few hours later

Darkness already covered Mystic Falls. The forest was silent, except for the hurried footsteps on the damp grass.

Luka appeared, panting, looking around. A faint glow guided him between the trees, like a magical whisper.

"Here…" he murmured, eyes fixed on the clearing.

The replica of the Moonstone now shone with moderate intensity, wrapped in a faint blue halo.

Luka knelt, his gaze hypnotized.

"How did you end up here…?" — He slowly reached out his hand.

The instant his fingers touched the “stone”…

BAM.

An explosion of arcane energy threw him back two meters. He hit the ground on his back, gasping, eyes wide. A wave of heat burned through his veins — like magical fire consuming him from inside.

"AAAH!" he screamed, trying to get up. But he staggered, his hands shaking.

Blurred vision. Stomach churning. Ears ringing.

High on a nearby tree, Elara and Bonnie watched, hidden by magic.

Elara whispered:

"Score one for us."

Bonnie’s eyes stayed firm, but there was a flicker of pain in them.

"I didn’t want to…" she murmured. "But he was going to use everything I am against me."

Elara didn’t answer. She just placed her hand on Bonnie’s shoulder, silently.

[author’s note: dramatic pause to remind you that, sass aside, these two have amazing partners-in-crime chemistry]

Luka finally crawled away from the clearing, clutching the “stone” with trembling hands, still convinced he’d succeeded.

Bonnie whispered the final spell.

"Sigillum conclusum. Revelatio negata."

"Now… no one else will be able to draw anything from it."

Martin House, shortly after

Jonas was cleaning magical instruments when Luka stumbled in, throwing the stone onto the table.

"I got it… but… there was a strange reaction…"

Jonas approached cautiously, examining the stone with trained eyes.

He grimaced.

"This… isn’t the real one."

"What?"

"It’s a copy. A very well-made one. But there are distortions in the base energy. Created by two sources… one of them is the hybrid girl’s."

Luka clenched his fists.

"They tricked me…"

Jonas narrowed his eyes.

"And they’re sharper than we thought."

Elara’s room, later

Elara came back tired, but satisfied. The grimoire was on her bed, as always. She lay down with a sigh, staring at the ceiling.

"One fooled witch, one convincing replica, one dose of payback… Not bad for a Tuesday."

As she opened the grimoire, she found another folded sheet.

This time, it wasn’t like the previous note. It bore a raised symbol: an ancient triskelion. A Mikaelson family seal.

Elara hesitated, touching the paper.

"The first bait was noticed.
But beware, child.
In the game of immortals, every forgery comes with a price.
— E."

Elara sat up straight.

"Damn it, Elijah’s watching me again like it’s Big Brother…"

She sighed and muttered:

"I seriously need a Mikaelson-proof magic bubble."

[author’s note: someone make this spell and put it on Etsy already, it’d be a bestseller]

Post-Credit Scene 🌙

The screen goes black, then lights up again. Elara is sitting at a messy table, with scribbled papers, colorful pens, and an empty coffee cup. She stares directly at the camera, chin resting on her hand, with the face of someone who’s had enough.

Elara:
"Okay, hold on. We need to talk. I’m tired of being thrown into crazy schemes, last-minute sabotage, and having to play teenage spy. This isn’t a ‘comedic drama fanfic,’ this is character exploitation! I demand royalties for my brilliant plans."

She holds up a crumpled paper to the camera.

Elara:
"See this? Plan ‘Operation Distract the Warlock While I Steal the Book.’ My idea. The result? I almost got roasted alive by a grumpy witch. Where’s the credit? Where’s my name in the acknowledgments?"

She sighs theatrically, tosses the paper into the air, and leans back, staring at the ceiling.

Elara:
"And another thing… nobody warned me I’d be acting opposite someone that handsome in a suit. Seriously, how am I supposed to keep my sarcastic poker face when that smile and that suit show up?" rolls her eyes, clearly blushing "Official ‘Elara X Suit’ fanclub already exists, right? Bet it does. Bet you’re already making Twitter threads."

She leans closer to the camera, whispering conspiratorially:

Elara:
"I’ve seen the edits. I’ve seen them."

She sits back, crosses her arms, and points off-screen.

Elara:
"So that’s it, oh mysterious writer on the other side. I want royalties, I want a cut of the profits, and if you keep putting me in these messes, I’ll start a secondary-characters union. You’ve been warned."

The screen freezes with Elara raising an eyebrow, as if challenging the very author.

📽️ Text on screen:
"Elara will return in: ‘Chapter 7 – The Union of Forgotten Characters’"

Chapter Text

Salvatore Mansion, late afternoon

Elara walked into the kitchen, still holding an apple, her hair tied up in a messy bun. Spotting Damon leaning against the central island with a bourbon glass, she raised a brow.

“Again? You practically live in that stuff. You sure there’s no blood in that glass?”

Damon glanced over his shoulder, deadpan.

“If I wanted judgment, I’d hang out with Caroline.”

“Fair.” Elara bit into her apple. “But since we’re being all honest here… where exactly is that famous Moonstone everyone’s after? Random question. No ulterior motives.”

Damon downed the rest of his drink in one go.

“It’s safe. Let’s just say… no one’s going to look where I put it.”

Elara narrowed her eyes.

“That’s as vague as a vampire promising not to bite ‘the first time.’ Where is it, Damon?”

“In the bathroom.” He smirked. “Inside the soap dish.”

Elara froze mid-bite.

“You… you hid an ancient supernatural relic… in a soap dish?!”

“Genius, right? No one ever checks those. Not even vampires are brave enough to open them. Too personal.”

Elara dropped her apple.

“I’m gonna need an herbal bath after this information.”

Church Tomb, nightfall

Katherine leaned against the damp wall, bored but sharp. She heard footsteps. A familiar silhouette.

Jeremy Gilbert.

“I… I came to check on you,” he stammered.

“How sweet,” Katherine cooed. “Alone here for days, no spa, no fresh blood. A tragedy.”

Jeremy stepped closer. From the shadows, Elara—hidden with a light invisibility charm—watched, her expression pure internal sarcasm.

Of course the boy’s falling for the century-old doppelgänger’s act. Congratulations, Mystic Falls.

Katherine struck fast. She shoved Jeremy inside the tomb and triggered the seal.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I need a little walk. Nothing personal.” She winked and vanished into the darkness.

Elara’s eyes widened.

“Wait—WHAT?! She just escaped. SHE. ES-CAPED!”

Salvatore Mansion Bathroom, minutes later

The house was too quiet. Damon, towel over his shoulder, walked toward the bathroom. The door was ajar.

“Stefan?” he called.

Silence.

He stepped inside. The soap dish was open.

Empty.

“No.” His voice echoed through the house.

Salvatore Mansion Living Room, shortly after

Damon was spiraling. Elara sat nearby, halfway between shocked and knew-this-was-coming.

“I hid the damn stone in the most improbable place in the world!” Damon paced furiously. “Who checks a soap dish?! Who does that?!”

“Katherine, apparently. With her scammer GPS fully activated.” Elara sipped from her glass of blood. “You hid a magical relic in a bathroom, Damon. That’s the mystical equivalent of storing a gun in a microwave.”

Stefan entered, already aware.

“Katherine took the Moonstone. She’s gone. Probably straight to Elijah.”

Elara raised her glass.

“A toast to your soap dish—responsible for one of the biggest Salvatore screw-ups in history.”

Damon hurled the bottle against the wall, seething.

“I’ll kill that snake.”

Stefan sighed.

“First we need to figure out what Elijah plans to do with it…”

Secret Location, night

In an old colonial mansion, Elijah stood before a lit fireplace. Katherine lingered in the shadows, holding the Moonstone wrapped in velvet.

“As promised,” she said, extending it. “Now you keep your word.”

Elijah regarded her with calm, dark eyes.

“Protection will be granted… for now.”

He accepted the stone delicately. The moment his fingers touched it, a faint blue spark flickered across his skin.

“Curious,” he murmured. “There’s another magical signature here. Distorted. As if someone has… tampered.”

Slowly, his head turned, lips curving into the faintest smile.

“The little red-haired hybrid, perhaps?”

Katherine frowned.

“Who?”

“No one you need to worry about. Yet.”

Elara’s Room, past midnight

Elara sprawled on her bed, legs up, flipping through her grimoire. She stopped when one page glowed faintly on its own.

“Stolen object with impure intent = natural imbalance cycle.
Beware.
The stone is now marked.”

She sat up slowly.

“Great. As if being in the wrong hands wasn’t enough… now it’s cursed too.”

Muttering under her breath:

“Starting to think that soap dish should’ve been salted shut.”

Post-Credit Scene — Elara vs. Damon

The kitchen was dark, save for the faint glow of the moon spilling through the windows. Elara leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. Damon was pacing back and forth, every step punctuated by frustrated groans.

Elara raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, seriously, Damon. You hid the Moonstone in a soap dish. A soap dish. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Damon stopped mid-step, glaring.

“It was… genius. No one looks there. Not even vampires.”

Elara laughed—short, sharp, completely incredulous.

“Genious? Genius? Genius, he says! Do you have any idea how many things could go wrong in a bathroom? Slippery floors, enchanted soap, rogue spells… or, you know, Katherine Pierce walking in like it’s Christmas morning?”

Damon ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“She—she did get it. Katherine took the stone. So much for your ‘brilliant’ hiding spot.”

Elara leaned closer, eyes narrowing.

“You do realize this is exactly why I always offer to help with plans that involve ancient artifacts, right? Because your idea of security is apparently ‘hide it in something that lathers.’”

Damon shot her a glare.

“And your brilliant plan would’ve been—what? Cast a glamour and hope for the best?”

Elara smirked, tilting her head.

“Better than soap, genius. At least I think ahead. You’re lucky I didn’t hex the shampoo bottle out of revenge.”

Damon groaned.

“Why do I even put up with you?”

Elara waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh, please. You love it. Admit it. Besides, someone’s got to keep your ego from destroying Mystic Falls faster than you do with your bourbon.”

[author’s note: Elara officially wins the argument. Damon’s ego… not so much. Expect lingering tension, sarcasm, and possibly hexed hand towels in future chapters.]

Chapter Text

Salvatore Mansion, living room, night

The sound of a bottle shattering against the wall echoed through the house.

"I’M GOING TO KILL THAT SERPENT WITH MY OWN HANDS!" Damon growled, pacing back and forth.
[author’s note: seriously, Damon, do we already have house-destruction insurance?]

Stefan sat in the armchair with the patience of someone who had seen his brother lose it far too many times. Elara, on the other hand, was watching Damon with a bag of popcorn in her lap.

"How many bottles of bourbon are you planning to waste in this crisis? Just so I know if I should bring a bucket or the fire extinguisher."
[meta-author’s note: and here I thought the popcorn was just background decoration]

Damon pointed his now-empty bottle at her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I’m observing. It’s vampiric anthropology in real time."
[author’s note: yes, we now have a hybrid anthropologist, thank you very much]

Stefan sighed.

"Damon, smashing the whole house isn’t going to bring the stone back."

Damon huffed and threw himself onto the couch, his eyes red with frustration.

"I hid that damn thing in the soap dish. SOAP DISH. She had to be spying. Or using someone."
[author’s note: whose genius idea was this? Bathroom shrine for relics deserves an award]

Elara popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth.

"Ten bucks says it was emotional manipulation plus high heels."
[author’s note: Elara making official bets in this fanfic, I’m thriving]

Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening froze everyone in place.

Footsteps. Calm. Confident.

And then, with all the shamelessness in the world, Katherine Pierce appeared in the doorway, a sly smile on her face and her hair perfectly curled.

"Good to see you too, my lovely lunatics."
[author’s note: perfect hair right after stealing the Moonstone? Priorities, I guess]

Same room, seconds later

"You’ve got the nerve to show up here?!" Damon shouted, springing to his feet.

"Damon, darling…" she feigned innocence. "It was just a strategic little visit. And you should thank me. I gave the stone to Elijah, which guarantees us… hm, let’s say… time."

"You betrayed us. Again!" Stefan said firmly.

"I did what I had to do to survive. You should try it once in a while." She strolled around the room, heels clicking. "Besides, did you really think something that magical would stay safe in a soap dish?"

Damon scoffed, pointing at her.

"You’re unbearable."

Katherine smirked.

"And irresistible."
[author’s note: dramatic pause… let’s be honest, he actually believes that]

Elara, who had stayed quiet until now, finally stood up slowly, tossing the popcorn bag onto the couch.

"Hello, chaos clone."

Katherine turned to her, assessing.

"You must be the new ‘creature’ poking around spells and meddling in ancient plans."

Elara smiled sweetly.

"And you must be the doppelgänger who collects stab wounds like girl scout badges."
[author’s note: standing ovation for the most meta line of this fanfic so far]

Katherine narrowed her eyes.

"You’ve got nerve."

"And you’ve got a lot of guts walking in here after screwing everything up. What’s your game this time, Katherine? Steal another mystical trinket? Poison another boyfriend? Take a holy water bath and pretend you’re redeemed?"

Damon stifled a laugh.

Stefan frowned.

"Why are you really here?"

Katherine ran a hand through her hair.

"Elijah will make his move soon. I wanted to… let’s say, make sure you don’t all die in the process. If he wants to use Elena, that affects all of us. Including me."

Elara crossed her arms.

"And you came to warn us out of pure goodwill? Wow, therapy must really be working."
[author’s note: Elara’s ‘I know what you did last summer’ face is priceless]

Katherine held Elara’s gaze longer than necessary. There was a quiet tension — not hatred, but recognition. Two survivors sizing each other up.

"You’re dangerous, you know that?"

"Not yet. But I’m getting there."

Kitchen, minutes later

Elara walked in, grabbed a glass of water, and leaned against the counter. Damon appeared right after, tossing an empty bottle into the trash.

"I like you, Red. But if she kills you, I’ll side with her just out of historical loyalty."

Elara sipped her water, unbothered.

"Fair. But if she kills me, she might also take out the only person tracking the Moonstone’s magical signature."

Damon raised a brow.

"You’re doing that?"

Elara nodded.

"Started even before the soap dish became a magical shrine. And Damon… the trail is weird. It feels like the stone absorbed something. Or someone."
[author’s note: yes, she’s going meta even with the mystical tracking, stay tuned]

Damon went silent.

"So we’ve got another problem?"

"Yep. But relax. Worse than a dishonest doppelgänger crashing your house? Impossible."

Damon smirked.

"You’re learning fast."
[author’s note: and meta-Elara here, just collecting royalties for sarcasm and espionage]

Post-Credit Scene — Elara, Queen of Improvised Sarcasm

The living room was finally silent. Katherine had left with her echoing heels, Damon was on the porch with the surviving bourbon (a miracle), Stefan was sweeping up glass shards, and Elara was… sitting alone on the couch.

She looked around, sighed dramatically, and muttered to herself:

“Okay, congrats, Elara. You officially survived a Katherine Pierce grand entrance without losing any vital organs. That should earn me a trophy. Or at least a discount on therapy.”

She grabbed the now-empty popcorn bag and stared at it.

“Do you think I could enchant this into an infinite refill? Like, a mystical Netflix subscription?”

Suddenly, Stefan passed behind her with the broom.

“Are you talking to yourself?”

Elara blinked.

“No. I’m… rehearsing a protection spell against vampires who keep smashing bottles for no reason.”

Stefan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“You’re weird.”

She flashed a triumphant smile.

“Thanks. I worked hard for that title.”

[author’s note: and that’s a wrap. Elara is now officially ready to be the redheaded Deadpool of this crossover — we’re just waiting for the fourth wall to become a summer camp 😏]

Chapter Text

Gilbert House, early evening

The clock on the wall had just passed seven, but the tension inside the Gilbert house could have been cut with a stake.

Elena paced back and forth across the living room, nervous. Bonnie sat on the couch, watching her friend in silence. Jeremy did the same, looking paler than usual. Damon was in the kitchen, pouring bourbon into a glass as if it were water.

Elara leaned against the banister, chewing gum, watching the parade of collective anxiety.

“Guys, it’s just an ancient vampire, super polite, who can probably kill us all with a blink. Relax,” she said, dripping irony.

“That doesn’t help,” Elena muttered, running a hand through her hair.

“ Wasn’t meant to help,” Elara shot back. “I just wanted to remind you we’re about to chat with Dracula, Hugo Boss edition.”
[Author’s note: Elijah is basically Dracula with a lifetime contract signed with Hugo Boss.]

The sound of the doorbell cut through the tension.

Everyone froze.

Damon started toward the door, but Elena stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“ Let me.”

“ Elena,” Stefan appeared from the porch, “are you sure?”

“If it’s him, I’d rather hear what he has to say myself.”

With one last breath, Elena opened the door.

And there he was.

Elijah Mikaelson.

Perfect posture. Dark suit tailored like second skin. Neutral expression, eyes sharp as blades. The kind of presence that froze blood — even in those who no longer had warm blood.

He inclined his head politely.

“ Good evening, Elena. May we talk?”

Living room

The atmosphere was suffocating in its silence as Elijah stepped inside. He sat with the calm of someone who had centuries of practice in deadly diplomacy. Elena stood across from him, Bonnie and Stefan on either side. Damon leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Elara remained at the doorway, eyes sharp, posture relaxed but alert.

Elijah began, his voice smooth yet firm:

“I’ll be direct. I am trying to stop my brother, Klaus. To do so, I need to carry out the ritual you believe to be the breaking of the sun and moon curse.”

“‘Believe’?” Elara raised a brow.

Elijah glanced briefly at her, as though fully aware that this fiery redhead was more than she appeared.

“You know what you need to know,” he said with a faint smile. “The full truth… will come in time.”

Damon let out a dry laugh.

“ How convenient.”

Elena leaned forward.

“ And why do you need me?”

“ Because you are the doppelgänger. The centerpiece of the ritual. But unlike Klaus, I do not intend to kill you. On the contrary: I want to protect you.”

Bonnie narrowed her eyes.

“ And why should we believe you?”

“ Because…” His gaze shifted to Elena, softening almost imperceptibly. “I will make a deal. I will protect everyone you love — Damon. Stefan. Bonnie. Jeremy. Anyone else who touches your life… if you come with me willingly on the day of the ritual.”

Elena hesitated. The offer was absurd and yet… it felt real.

Elara, who had been silent, stepped forward, arms crossed.

“ How generous of you. Just one question: do these ‘deals’ of yours usually come with tiny hidden clauses that end up causing horrific deaths later?”

Elijah turned his eyes to her.

“Elara, isn’t it?”

For a second, she froze. His tone was far too polite.

“Wow. You know me. Should I feel famous, or marked for death?”

He stood, smooth as a shadow.

“I hear about all things touched by magic. Especially when that magic dares to bend the laws I helped write.”

Elara held her ground, but swallowed hard inside.

“ Good to know the Magic Google works fine. But if you’re here to convince people, maybe try not threatening the girl eavesdropping.”
[Author’s note: Elara 1, Etiquette Vampire 0.]

Elijah smiled. Polite, but sharp.

“ Do not worry. I came to offer peace, not war.”

“ You only need Elena’s body — with permission, right? How noble.”

“ Hey. I’m still here,” Elena cut in, standing now.

Elijah regarded her with something close to reverence.

“ Think carefully. If you want my protection… I’ll be waiting. Just don’t take too long.”

He moved to leave, but before crossing the doorway, he looked over his shoulder — directly at Elara.

“ And you… be careful what you awaken. Some secrets sleep for a reason.”

Then he was gone.

After his visit — empty living room

“ Was it just me, or did he flirt with the apocalypse?” Elara muttered, perching on the arm of the sofa.

Damon scoffed.

“ He makes threats sound like courtesy. Millennia of class, I guess.”

Elena was lost in thought.

“ What if he’s telling the truth?”

“ And what if it’s a trap?” Bonnie countered.

Elara stayed quiet for a beat, then picked up her grimoire from the floor.

“ Whatever the truth is… I’ll find it.”

She opened the book. On a fresh page, a single line appeared in dark ink:

“If you accept the deal, the wheel will turn.
But every ancient promise demands a price.”

She muttered, almost inaudible:

“ I hate being the only one in this town who’s read the spoilers.”
[Author’s note: imagine Elara reading the finale ahead of time. She’d throw the grimoire straight at Klaus’s head.]

Post-Credit Scene – “The Apocalypse Suit” 🌙

Gilbert house, later that night. The living room is dark, everyone else asleep. Damon and Elara remain awake, each with a glass in hand. The tension has eased, but the bickering hasn’t.

Damon: “I still can’t believe the guy shows up, threatens half the town… and walks out looking like a catalog model.”

Elara: “If it’s the apocalypse, at least it’s well-dressed. Hugo Boss should sponsor that ritual.”

Damon: “I could pull off that suit.”

Elara: “You? You’d stuff the Moonstone in the pocket and forget it in the laundry.”

Damon: [offended] “I would not.”

Elara: “You totally would. You already put the Moonstone in a soap dish once, Damon. A SOAP DISH. That’s like… advanced level stupidity décor.”

Damon: “Yeah, but nobody would look there!”

Elara: “Nobody except Katherine, who has a PhD in finding strategic idiocy.”

Damon rolls his eyes, hiding a reluctant smirk.

Damon: “You’re starting to annoy me.”

Elara: “And you’re starting to admit I’m right. Evolution.”

They clink glasses, silence for a beat.

Elara: “He really does look good in that suit, though.”

Damon: “…Okay, yeah, can’t argue with that.”

📽️ On-screen text:
Elijah: 1 | Damon & Elara: 0 — The Suit Fanclub is officially founded.

✨ Author’s Note: and that’s how Elijah crash-landed into Mystic Falls negotiations looking like the apocalypse in Armani. [Honestly, the man doesn’t talk, he curates scenes.]

Chapter Text

Salvatore Boarding House – Living Room, Late Afternoon

Elara was on the couch, messing with Damon’s video game — wearing Stefan’s hoodie, a bucket of popcorn in her lap, and casually winning on hard mode with a blood bag in a cup.

Caroline walked in, looking exhausted.

“Elara? Exactly what are you lending out now?”

She stuttered, spilling popcorn all over the floor.

“... grounding mystical energy. I had trauma from being chased by a rabbit in a suit.”

[Don’t ask, just accept this is her personal lore.]

Caroline crossed her arms.

“Tyler’s going to turn during the next full moon. And he doesn’t have control.”

“Yes,” Elara said, unusually serious. “It’s like PMS that breaks your bones. But worse.”

Elena and Damon entered too, watching.

“Rose said she’d take some time out of town. Got paranoid after that whole Klaus talk,” Damon commented.

Bonnie appeared beside them.

“And Tyler? How is he?”

“In the basement, with chains and protective candles,” Caroline answered. “But I need a containment spell. Like a mystical brake.”

Damon glanced at Elara.

“And how much are you charging?”

Elara smiled.

“Standard price: protection, control, no guarantees the floor won’t crack under Tyler’s bones.”

“Deal,” Caroline said.

Salvatore Boarding House Basement – Night, a Few Hours Before the Full Moon

The basement was filled with candles, chains, and the sharp scent of burned salt. Ritual runes covered the floor, and at the center, Tyler—already sweating—was bound by enchanted chains.

Elara, perched on a stool nearby, held her still-damp grimoire (drying out from her last magical accident) while muttering to herself:

“Transforming a raging werewolf in the basement where two ancient vampires sleep... genius. Absolute genius.”

[Because yeah, mixing werewolves and vampires in one room always ends well.]

Caroline, piling blankets in a corner, sighed.

“Are you going to complain or help?”

“I am helping. I’m holding this containment spell together with magical chewing gum and borrowed trauma energy. And pretending I won’t charge you later.”

Damon stepped into the basement then, stopping on the stairs with an expression of pure disgust.

“Is this serious? You’re running a National Geographic special in my basement?”

Stefan followed, quieter but with a look that screamed disappointment.

“Caroline... why?”

“He needed somewhere safe, Stefan!”

Elara raised her hand without even looking at them.

“Oh no, Stefan, please, let me. I get to ask the question.”

She pointed to the center of the room.

“Why, in the name of everything still sacred in this cursed world, did you think it was a good idea to lock a werewolf about to snap every bone in his body... in a vampire basement? Like, an antisocial bunker with no exits?”

[Honestly, this is the first time I’m 100% on Elara’s side.]

Caroline crossed her arms.

“It was the most protected place!”

Damon scoffed.

“If he loses control, he’ll climb the stairs and bite someone. Probably you, Blonde Number One. Or you, Redheaded Menace.”

Elara pointed at the circle with lethal sarcasm.

“Don’t worry. The containment circle will hold perfectly. Unless he screams too loud. Or drools acid. Or if the moon gets too full. Then we’re screwed.”

Tyler groaned in pain, his eyes already glowing amber.

“Guys... less arguing... I’m... aaargh!”

The Transformation

Chains rattled. Tyler arched his back. Cracks echoed as bones shifted. Veins bulged, his body reshaping. It was raw, visceral, inhuman.

Elara knelt beside him, chanting shakily, hands trembling over the central rune:

“Tenetur corpus... retine umbram...”

Stefan stood guard by the stairs, tense. Damon, eyes half-red, clutched an iron rod—just in case.

Caroline froze, her heart breaking as she watched.

“Elara, is it working?”

“Well, if by ‘working’ you mean he hasn’t ripped off my arm and gone full B-movie werewolf yet... then yes. We’re ahead.”

The Break

A howl split the air.

The spell cracked with a mystical snap. One chain burst apart. Tyler lunged against the rune, frothing.

Damon stepped forward.

“Can I snap his neck just a little?”

Elara shouted:

“No one kills the client until he pays me!”

She yanked a small blue crystal from her pocket, slamming it against Tyler’s chest.

“Contine corpus! Sleep! SHUT DOWN, BEAST!!”

A surge of magic spread. Tyler convulsed once—then collapsed, half-transformed, half-human, wheezing.

Silence.

Everyone stared.

Damon dragged a hand down his face.

“I want a heads-up next time you turn my basement into a zoo.”

Stefan exhaled sharply.

“That was reckless, Caroline.”

Caroline’s eyes welled up as she looked at Tyler.

“But he’s alive.”

Elara slid down the wall, drained.

“And I’m almost not. My crystal’s gone, my spine is in Jenga mode, and I demand payment in food, a hot bath, and chilled blood.”

Damon handed her his bourbon glass.

“Here. You earned it.”

Elara gulped it, wiped her lips, and raised her eyes.

“Next full moon, we do this in a cabin. In the woods. Open field. No hysterical vampires. If it happens here again, I’ll transform myself and bite everyone.”

Guest Room – Later That Night

Elara lay face-down on the bed, blood bag in hand, muttering.

“Who in their right mind... basement... vampires... werewolf. I swear, if they try this again, I’ll turn antagonist.”

Her grimoire glowed faintly.

A new line wrote itself:

“Instinct is chaos. Control is illusion. But you knew that already.”

She groaned, shoved the pillow over her head.

“Big deal. I also knew putting a werewolf in a vampire basement was a recipe for a hellish reality show. But no one listens to me...”

Post-Credit Scene – Elara’s Diary

[Cut to black screen. Elara’s voice, mock-dramatic, narrates like a secret diary entry. She’s sitting at the desk in the guest room, scribbling in a glitter-covered notebook with a purple pen.]

“Dear diary... today I almost got crushed by a werewolf mid-mutation in the basement of two millennia-old vampires. Yes, the basement. Because apparently, when it comes to supernatural logistics, the Salvatores have PhDs in terrible strategic decisions.”

[She sighs, tosses the pen, and swigs blood from a bottle like it’s an energy drink.]

“Caroline swore it was the safest place. Stefan did his ‘responsible brother’ face and stayed quiet. Damon... well, Damon just laughed and suggested biting Tyler ‘just a little,’ like that’s a recipe. Spoiler: it’s not.”

[Elara makes finger quotes, deadpan.]
“End result? Chains snapping, spell breaking, Tyler nearly starring in a trash horror flick, and me burning my emergency crystal — which, by the way, costs more than therapy in Mystic Falls.”

[She leans back in the chair, eyes shut.]
“Oh, and bonus detail: I powered the spell with borrowed trauma energy. Fantastic. Next group session, I’ll suggest it: meditation, breathing... and trauma recycling as magical battery. Revolutionary mystical psychology, courtesy of me.”

[She scribbles furiously in the notebook again.]
“Note to self: next full moon, pick a cabin in the woods. Open space. No panicked vampires. If they drag me to the basement again... I’ll transform, bite everyone, and officially become the season’s villain.”

[She slams the diary shut, smirks at the camera.]
“Signed: Elara. The only one in this cursed town with any sense of safety.”

[Screen cuts to black. Scribbled note in italics:]
Production confirms Damon still thinks the basement was a great idea. Elara disagrees. Strongly.

Author’s Note:
The spells above were all made up by me, so don’t bother trying them at home — they won’t work (>‿◠)✌

Chapter Text

Salvatore Boarding House – Main Hall, Next Morning

Elara was descending the stairs with her grimoire tucked under one arm, a blood cup in the other, and the expression of someone forced to exist before 10 a.m.

“If one more person looks at me with pity today, I swear I’ll turn this mansion into a chicken coop.”

Behind her, hurried footsteps.

Tyler, hair messy, oversized T-shirt, “lost puppy at the supermarket” face, followed like a shadow.

“Hi. Morning. You okay?”

Elara didn’t even glance at him.

“Look, if you follow me for another five minutes, I’ll have to give you a name and teach you sit-and-roll. You want that?”

“I just…” Tyler cleared his throat. “I wanted to understand what happened yesterday. Like, how I transformed, how you held me with that crazy spell, and… I don’t know… why I can hear the birds outside arguing over a stick now.”

She stopped walking, turned slowly.

“You’re telling me you now have canine hearing… and you’re focused on birds debating a stick?”

“They’re very loud, okay? One of them is clearly the passive-aggressive one of the nest.”

Elara scoffed.

“This is what happens when you shove a teenage werewolf in a basement. Now he thinks he can follow the responsible witch like an eager golden retriever.”

Tyler gave a sheepish smile.

“You’re my mystical guide. Kind of… my trainer, I guess.”

“Wrong. I’m your independent magical service provider. Lessons cost. First one is free, second comes with exhausted-witch surcharge.”

Clearing Outside the Town

Elara led the way through the forest. Tyler, as expected, trailed right behind—literally sniffing the air.

“Did you pass through here last night?” he asked, sniffing.

“What part of ‘don’t smell me, creature’ didn’t you get?”

“I just… sense your scent. It’s different.”

She stopped, turned, and pressed two fingers to his forehead.

“That. That’s the wolf instinct. Smell, hearing, impulses… all on ‘opinionated animal’ mode. But guess what? You’re still human. Give in too much, and you become a threat. And I, unfortunately, charge more for exorcism.”

“So… you’re really helping me?”

“Today only because we’re out of house coffee and I need a distraction to avoid killing Damon.”

She pointed at the ground in the clearing, where a small salt circle had been drawn.

“Step in. Close your eyes. Focus. Feel what’s changing. Your senses. Your instinct. Try to identify… without going full rabid monster, please.”

Tyler stepped in, sat down.

Elara stepped back and opened the grimoire.

“Olfatus dilata… auditum amplifica… vincula bestia intra…”

A faint glow enveloped Tyler’s body.

He opened his eyes slowly, face contorting.

“My heart… it’s racing. Everything is louder. The smell of trees, the salt… even your hair.”

Elara raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, creepy. Breathe. Slowly.”

“This is… a lot. My skin feels electric. My blood… it’s pulsing faster.”

She watched carefully. The circle held, but the energy around him was intense.

“You’re feeling your wolf. It’s there. But still asleep. What you feel… is just the whisper. Once a month, it screams. The rest of the time, it whispers.”

Tyler opened his eyes, staring at her.

“How do you know all this?”

Elara hesitated, then smirked sideways.

“I read. A lot. And I have a talent for surviving worlds that want to kill me creatively.”

Path Back

Tyler still seemed sensitive, but lighter, smiling.

“This… helped.”

“I know.”

“Like… I never thought I’d feel this. Part of something bigger. Wild. But with purpose.”

Elara snapped her fingers.

“That’s the ‘curse with optional instruction manual’ package. Congrats. You’re starting to get it.”

He hesitated, then:

“Have you… ever felt alone in all this?”

She stopped. Her smile vanished for a moment.

“Always. But now I charge for companionship.”

“Can I pay with loyalty?”

“You’re a teenage werewolf in emotional crisis. Your loyalty lasts until the next full moon.”

“Then I’ll prove it.” He smiled.

Elara turned, rolling her eyes with a hidden grin.

“Next time you follow me without invite, puppy… I’ll conjure a leash.”

Mansion, Night

Elara lay on the couch, grimoire in her lap. It vibrated lightly, revealing a new page.

“Instinct is restrained power. The most dangerous bond is formed when the monster learns to obey.”

She gazed out the window.

In the distant forest, Tyler ran alone, faster, stronger.

But his eyes… still showed fear.

Mini Post-Credit – Elara’s Diary 📝

*"Dear supernatural diary,
Today I officially adopted a teenage werewolf. Didn’t sign any papers, but he’s following me like a needy golden retriever. If I become ‘witch-for-hire + mystical dog trainer,’ I’ll need to raise my rates.

PS: if he shows up at my door at 3 a.m. howling, I’m casting eternal silence. With glitter. Because drama should be beautiful."* ✨🐺

[Author’s Note: Someone please print this and stick it on the Mansion fridge, thank you.]

Chapter Text

Mystic Grill – Late Afternoon

Elara sat at the corner table, nibbling on fries while flipping through her grimoire disguised as a school planner. The background noise was constant—pool balls, laughter, low music—but she was focused.

Until a sharp, familiar voice cut through the air:

“You and Tyler?”

Elara didn’t even look. She grabbed another fry and replied:

“Oh, hi, Caroline. I’m fine too, thanks for asking.”

[Author’s Note: classic Elara, serving lunchtime sarcasm.]

Caroline slid into the seat across from her, expression a mix of disbelief, worry, and… a hint of jealousy masquerading as concern.

“Seriously. You and Tyler? Alone. In the forest?”

Elara snapped her grimoire shut, looked over her sunglasses (clearly worn indoors for dramatic effect) and said:

“Relax, Vampire Barbie. I don’t have a thing for emotionally unstable werewolves with aggression issues. I was just helping him not kill his own reflection.”

Caroline’s eyes went wide.

“This isn’t just anything! He just went through the transformation. He’s… vulnerable. Unstable. And you’re… you!”

Elara raised an eyebrow.

“Lovely description. Thank you. I am… ‘me.’ Deep, right?”

[Author’s Note: applause for psychological depth, Caroline. 👏]

“You know what I mean!” Caroline leaned in. “You’re all… sarcastic, mysterious, not exactly trustworthy, Elara!”

“And yet, I was the one holding the werewolf with an improvised spell while you were busy crying glitter in some corner.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes.

“I was trying to protect him.”

“And I was trying to prevent him from chewing Stefan’s leg off. Coincidence… same goal, different methods.”

Tense silence.

“You don’t understand what this is. The curse. The pain. The guilt.”

Elara stared at her for a moment, serious.

“No? I live with two natures that hate each other inside me. I hear things I don’t want to, smell blood around every corner, and have a grimoire whispering spells that’d get me life in prison in most states. But sure, yes, of course—I don’t understand pain.”

Caroline looked away.

“I just… don’t want him to get hurt.”

“And I don’t want him to turn into a furry time bomb in the middle of town. Believe me, the last thing I want is to lose my breakfast because a teenage werewolf went berserk.”

Elara leaned back, grabbed another fry, and muttered:

“I’m not your enemy, Caroline. Just… trying to survive in this world. Like everyone else.”

Tyler Arrives at the Grill

As if the universe had impeccable dramatic timing, Tyler walked into Mystic Grill at that exact moment. He spotted the two and cautiously approached the table.

“Hi… everything okay?”

Caroline and Elara exchanged looks.

Elara pointed at him with a fry.

“So, my new personal wolf. Care to explain why you’ve been following me around like I’m a walking steak?”

Tyler smiled, nervous.

“I just… she’s been helping me. Like, actually helping me understand what’s changing. To control it.”

Caroline crossed her arms.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I was going to! I just… thought you’d freak out.”

Elara raised her hand.

“Yep. She freaked. Mark it on the supernatural bingo.”

[Author’s Note: new game—Supernatural Bingo™. Cards include: Caroline’s freak-outs, Elara’s sarcasm, Damon drinking, Stefan suffering.]

Caroline huffed, standing.

“Do what you want. But if he gets hurt because of you, Elara, I swear…”

“Relax. If he gets hurt because of me, I’ll take the blame. Again. I’m used to it.”

Caroline looked at Tyler, pained, then left.

Tyler and Elara, Afterwards

Tyler sat in her spot, staring at her.

“She’s just trying to protect him.”

Elara looked at him, now serious.

“I know. But overprotecting… suffocates. You don’t need someone telling you what to feel. You need someone letting you feel. That’s it.”

Tyler stared at the table, then muttered:

“Thanks… for seeing me.”

Elara feigned being impressed.

“Wow. How poetic. Careful, next you’ll become a sensitive wolf and publish a self-help book.”

[*Author’s Note: bestseller confirmed—Howling Your Feelings: Surviving the Full Moon and High School.]

At the Counter – Damon Watching from Afar

Damon, holding a bourbon, whispered to Stefan beside him:

“You’re telling me this won’t end in chaos?”

Stefan sighed, watching Elara and Tyler.

“It will. Definitely.”

Damon took a sip.

“Love it when the witch of the house starts collecting wolves.”

[Author’s Note: Elara, officially CEO of the NGO ‘Adopt Your Werewolf.’]

Mini Post-Credit – Elara’s Diary 📝

*"Dear supernatural diary,
Today I witnessed pure jealousy. Vampire Caroline all worried over my ‘puppy’ Tyler 🐺💛. Seriously, someone tell her he’s not a walking steak, he’s a furry teenager trying not to explode in magic and hormones.

PS: if I had a dollar for every death glare the Vampire Barbie threw, I’d have bought another grimoire. Next episode: ‘How to survive other people’s jealousy while training a werewolf.’ Spoiler: involves fries and unlimited sarcasm."* 🍟✨

[Author’s Note: Caroline, chill… the puppy is my client, not your possession 😏]

Chapter Text

Mystic Grill – Late Afternoon

The jukebox played light rock. The smell of fries, aged wood, and freshly spilled blood from Damon’s cup filled the air. Elara sat in the corner, headphones around her neck, pretending to read a history book while stealing fries from Tyler’s plate.

“You didn’t order anything to eat?” he asked.

“Of course not. I asked for chilled blood and eternal silence, but the waiter doesn’t serve souls on a tray.”

[Author’s Note: Mystic Grill service rating: zero stars on the supernatural iFood.]

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re an emotional werewolf who still thinks he can hide instincts from a witch. It’s fine.”

Caroline appeared from the counter carrying three milkshakes. She shoved one toward each of them, squinting at the duo.

“Can I ask why you two have been glued together lately?”

“Therapeutic magic, with a pinch of medicinal sarcasm,” Elara replied, reaching for the milkshake straw like it was a rare potion.

“Alternative therapy for werewolves in identity crisis?”

“Exactly. I call it ‘Project Don’t-Bite-Anyone.’”

[Author’s Note: if this doesn’t become an NGO, I’ll personally register the company.]

Caroline huffed. Tyler pretended not to blush.

Then Elara stopped laughing. A shiver ran down her spine. A subtle vibration, as if the air itself had shifted density. Her grimoire, tucked inside her bag, vibrated once. Softly. Yet intensely.

She lifted her eyes and glanced out the Grill’s side window… and saw her.

Jules. Sitting alone at a corner table, dark jeans, worn leather jacket, a beer in hand. Eyes alert. Posture too relaxed for a stranger. But Elara knew. The way she scanned the room. The subtle scent of earth and animal blood. The predatory glint in her brown eyes. This wasn’t your everyday human.

Damon appeared beside her, as always, leaning with his bourbon.

“Feel that?”

Elara didn’t take her eyes off Jules.

“Felt it before I could even smell. My grimoire vibrated. This isn’t normal.”

Damon studied the woman for a moment.

“She’s not from Mystic Falls. And she’s not just enjoying a beer.”

“She’s sniffing. Hunting. Watching…”

“Would any witch recognize her?”

“Only if she had a rune tattooed on her forehead. And even then, I’d ask for ID.”

[Author’s Note: someone print a supernatural ID ASAP, please.]

Damon gave Jules one more glance.

“Smells like a wolf. But not like Tyler. More… trained. More… acidic.”

Elara crossed her arms.

“Street-animal instincts. Not just wolf. A she-wolf who’s lost someone. I’d bet my soaked grimoire her name’s Mason.”

Damon raised an eyebrow.

“If she came for Mason… things are about to get messy.”

Elara smirked.

“Messy with style. I can feel the drama arriving in high heels and knives in boots.”

[Author’s Note: perfect summary of the season—drama in heels and knives in boots.]

Jules – In the Corner of the Grill

Jules remained seated, now flipping through a city newspaper. Her eyes weren’t reading. They were fixed on the reflection in the glass… where Tyler and Elara laughed in the background. Her eyes narrowed. Softly, she murmured:

“So… you were the one who helped him.”

She finished her beer, stood slowly, and left the Grill. No fuss. No announcement. But Elara knew.

The scent of trouble had officially arrived in Mystic Falls.

[Author’s Note: spoiler—yes, trouble has a smell, and the perfume’s called “Eau de She-Wolf Revenge” 🐺💥]

Mini Post-Credit – Elara’s Diary 📝

*"Dear supernatural diary,
Important notice: Mystic Falls has officially switched to nighttime zoo mode. Emotional teenage wolves, vengeful she-wolves in heels, vampires thirsty for drama, and me trying to survive it all with fries as my only mental peace.

PS: someone bring wolf spray, or I’m going to start charging extra just for surviving the chaos. 🐺💥✨"*

[Author’s Note: seriously, if the town had a nose, it would be running in circles right now.]

Chapter Text

Tyler walking through town – late afternoon

The town was quieter than usual. Or maybe it was just Tyler, noticing everything more intensely now.

The smell of damp wood in the trees. The sound of tires sliding on wet pavement. His heart beating faster than he wanted.

He needed to clear his head. The transformation still weighed on his body, even a day later.

That’s when she appeared.

“Tyler Lockwood?”

He stopped. A tall woman with wavy hair and a confident expression stood on the opposite sidewalk. Leather jacket, worn boots, eyes that analyzed more than they revealed.

[Author’s Note: dramatic entrance unlocked — optional thunder sound effect.]

“That’s me. Who’s asking?”

She crossed the street with steady steps.

“My name is Jules. I was a friend of Mason’s.”

Pause.

The name hit Tyler’s chest like a brick.

“My uncle?”

She nodded, with a soft smile. But her eyes… alert.

“We knew each other well. He mentioned you a few times. I… heard he disappeared.”

“Yeah. He… vanished.”

Jules tilted her head, studying him.

“You know what he was, don’t you?”

Tyler hesitated.

“I do. Found out recently.”

“And you? How are you feeling?”

He shrank a little.

“Kind of lost.”

She smiled, but pity and something sharper hid behind it.

“That’s normal. The first weeks after turning are the worst. The body changes. Instincts take over. And if you don’t have someone to guide you…”

“I had someone,” Tyler cut in quickly.

Jules raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? Who?”

Before he could answer, a voice came from right behind them.

“Me.”

Elara. Hoodie, headphones around her neck, appearing like a sarcastic shadow.

[Author’s Note: there’s no such thing as a ‘casual entrance’ when it comes to Elara — only dramatic ones with theme music.]

Jules turned slowly.

“And you are…?”

Elara walked up to them with calm steps and total disinterest painted across her face.

“Elara. Witch. Half-vampire. Temporary trainer of teenage werewolves. Also teach sarcasm on the side, charge in dollars or fresh blood.”

Tyler tried not to laugh. Jules… did not.

“Interesting combination.”

“I’ve got plenty of those. You said you were Mason’s friend?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad. He was… good people.”

The silence between them grew heavy.

Jules looked back at Tyler.

“Can we talk later? Alone? I’d like to tell you a few things Mason told me about… what we are.”

Elara stepped forward.

“Anything involving ‘we’ and ‘what we are’ usually ends with dead people or curses. So… maybe keep that conversation supervised.”

[Author’s Note: witch supervision = like babysitting, but with lethal spells included.]

Jules stared at her for long seconds. Then she smiled — but poison glinted behind it.

“Of course. No problem.”

She turned and walked away.

Later – Elara and Tyler, outside his house

“You’ll kill me if I say I thought she seemed… nice?”

“No. I’ll tie you in a protection circle and make you sniff salt for a week.”

Tyler laughed.

“You’re jealous?”

Elara looked at him like he had just spoken out loud in the middle of a forbidden spell class.

“I’m in survival mode. Big difference.”

“She said she could help me.”

“And I say she reeks of trouble. Literally. If I trust my grimoire — and it rarely misses — she’s here for way more than ‘concern over Mason.’”

Tyler folded his arms.

“So what do we do?”

Elara smirked slightly.

“We wait. And when she makes her first move… we bite back.”

[Author’s Note: ‘bite back’ = supernatural version of ‘see you in court.’]

Jules – motel room

She lit a candle, pulled an old leather necklace from her bag, and whispered softly. The stone dangling from it glowed faintly — reacting to Tyler’s scent.

She smiled. A predator’s smile.

“So you’ve already turned, boy… how convenient.”

[Author’s Note: and here we go, officially launching the ‘Vengeful She-Wolf Club.’ Membership fee: one soul and one suspicious necklace.]

Mini Post-Credit – Elara’s Diary 📝

*"Dear supernatural diary,
Scientific fact confirmed: Tyler Lockwood has a unique talent for attracting women in leather jackets with a side of trouble. First Barbie Vampire having jealousy meltdowns, now mysterious she-wolf with a vengeance aura.

Conclusion: if another shows up, I’m opening official auditions for a reality show — ‘The Wolf and His Love Troubles.’ Sponsored by my salt stash."*

[Author’s Note: someone please get this boy an emotional fire extinguisher. 🔥🐺]

Chapter Text

The front door slammed open with violence and drama.

“Damon! Where are you, you hot vampire with terrible decision-making skills?! The town’s about to turn into a satanic dog park in two days and you’re sleeping?!”

Damon Salvatore, in his glorious morning state — shirt unbuttoned, hair a mess, expression of someone who killed last night and had sweet dreams about it — appeared at the top of the stairs with a glass of bourbon and the face of: I am not ready for Elara at 8 a.m.

“I thought you only broke in to steal blood. Now you scream too?”

Elara barged in carrying her grimoire, a mug that read “not my problem”, and a Mystic Falls map covered in scribbles.

“I’m freaking out. Seriously. Something’s wrong. The she-wolf — Jules — she didn’t just come to say hi. She’s sniffing around. Hunting. And I’d bet my magical kidney more are coming after her.”

[Yes, Elara basically opened the scene like a Netflix apocalypse trailer. Only missing the deep-voice narrator.]

Damon walked down the stairs, both bored and fascinated.

“You think it’s the beginning of the canine apocalypse?”

“I think if we don’t act now, we’ll wake up with a pack of wolves sniffing our necks, demanding the Moonstone and our patience.”

She spread the map across the coffee table. Red pen circles, arrows, words like “scent point,” “marking,” and “probable pack.”

Damon’s eyebrows shot up.

“You made a tactical map?”

“What did you expect? A PowerPoint with background music? I take my paranoia seriously.”

[Please imagine Damon sitting through Elara’s PowerPoint with 3D cube transitions and “Highway to Hell” blasting.]

He leaned back on the couch, sipping bourbon.

“Okay, witchy. What’s your plan?”

Elara took a deep breath and tossed the grimoire onto the table.

“Tracking spell with an illusion veil. I want to tail Jules without her noticing. And if I confirm what I’m feeling… we’ll have to make her vanish from the map. Literally, if necessary.”

Now interested, Damon leaned forward.

“Like… supernatural bluff?”

“Like get out of my town or I’ll turn you into pine-scented perfume.”

Salvatore Kitchen – plan in motion

While Elara prepared ingredients for the spell — black salt, ghost-herb ash, a drop of her own blood — Damon watched with a skeptical look.

“You always bleed in your spells? That explains the constant metallic smell in your backpack.”

“It’s aesthetics. Witches need drama.” She made a little circle gesture with her finger. “And before you complain, this spell is harmless. Just tracking… elegantly.”

[Translation: it’s gonna go wrong, but at least with glitter.]

Damon smirked, taking another sip.

“And if she’s the sensitive type?”

“Then we move to Plan B: slip magical laxatives in her coffee.”

Elara sends a message to Elijah

By late afternoon, Elara lit a dark candle in the Salvatore guest room she was “temporarily occupying.” She opened the grimoire and scribbled on a fresh sheet:

“Suit Bunny,
We’ve got fresh wolf scent in town. And not the domesticated kind.
The new she-wolf is sniffing around. And if a pack follows her here, you might be next on the menu.
You promised protection. I’m here reminding you that promises come with an expiration date.”

She folded the sheet, sealed it with blood, and whispered:

“notitia. Mittetur ad vinculo promissum.”

The candle extinguished itself. The message had been sent — straight to Elijah.

And just in case, Elara scribbled into her grimoire:

“If I die, I’ll collect in the afterlife.”

[Yes, even post-mortem this girl would chase her receipts.]

Elijah, reading the note

Elijah Mikaelson, immaculate in his suit, appeared in his temporary residence. Upon opening his office door, he found an envelope on the desk. No messenger. No obvious trace of magic.

He read it in silence.

When finished, he sighed… and murmured:

“As subtle as a grenade wrapped in pink ribbon.”

But his eyes hardened.

“Wolves in Mystic Falls… again.”

He pocketed the note and reached for his phone.

“Prepare surveillance. If this is what I think, the Moonstone is no longer the only target.”

[Translation: Elijah also knows this script won’t allow a moment of peace.]

Post-Credit Scene — Elara’s Diary (Big Brother Mystic Falls Edition) ✨

Sound of pen tapping on paper. Elara’s voice-over, dripping with drama and sarcasm.

Elara (narrating):
“Dear diary,
Today I learned my natural talent for spellcraft and tactical paranoia has been hijacked by… guess who… Damon Salvatore. Yes, the prettiest and most irritating vampire in Virginia decided the tracking plan against a potentially murderous she-wolf needed to become… a reality show.”

Page flip sound.

“He literally showed up with an old camera and said: ‘It’ll be fun, witchy. Let’s call it Keeping Up with the Werewolves.’ I don’t know what’s worse: him thinking he’s a TV producer, or Stefan actually asking if there’d be a confessional.”

Brief pause. Sound of Elara biting her pen.

“Result? While I tried to keep the spell stable, Damon narrated out loud like a survival-show host: ‘And here we see our little witch, nervously preparing to track a wild wolf. Will she survive? Place your bets now!’”

Pen scratching faster.

“Spoiler, diary: I almost blew up the grimoire in his face. The only reason I didn’t is because Elijah would probably smell the ashes miles away and show up for a lecture. And honestly, nobody needs a Mikaelson sermon before breakfast.”

Dramatic sigh. Elara pauses.

“Conclusion of the day: Damon remains Mystic Falls’ biggest problem, above werewolves, psycho witches, and the apocalypse in general. The upside? He actually does look ridiculously good playing host… but let’s keep that between us, diary. No need to fuel the fandom.”

Pen thumps shut, notebook snaps closed.

Elara (grumbling):
“End of entry. Damon, if you’re reading my diary: go get a job at MTV and leave me alone.”

📺 Fade out with reality-show theme music and Damon’s sarcastic laugh in the background.

Chapter Text

Salvatore Mansion — Night

The living room was more crowded than usual. Seated or standing, the Scooby Gang members were scattered around, some restless, others just confused.

Stefan leaned against the back of the sofa, arms crossed. Bonnie stood beside Caroline, who was nervously chewing her nail. Tyler, still with a faint bandage on his arm from the transformation, looked around with sharp eyes. Elena sat with her typical “I already regret being here” face.

And Elara? Elara entered with her grimoire under one arm, an improvised chalkboard in hand, and that typical sarcastic gleam in her eyes.

“Welcome to our crisis committee. Tonight’s topic: ‘How to avoid a supernatural massacre and survive long enough to brag about it later.’”

Damon raised his bourbon glass.
“A toast to well-informed paranoia.”

“Thank you, Damon,” said Elara. “Your irony is my spiritual fuel.”

She dropped the grimoire on the coffee table with a THUMP, lit a candle for pure dramatic effect (even with the lights already on), and looked at everyone with gravity.

“We have a wolf in town. Her name’s Jules. She already knows about Tyler. And if you don’t know what that means... let me translate: pack risk.”

Caroline frowned.
“You mean... like, more werewolves?”

“Exactly. And these aren’t the nice kind, like Tyler on his first full moon trying not to wreck the basement. These are the kind who hunt, who unite by instinct, and who love retaliation when one of their own disappears. Like Mason.”

Everyone automatically turned to look at Damon.

He raised his hands.
“Hey, hey... I just gave him a well-deserved beating. The tragic ending was self-defense. Almost noble.”

[ Someone please call the Oscars for this boy, because his innocent face deserves an award. ]

Elara rolled her eyes.
“Anyway. Jules came to sniff around. This is the beginning. If she thinks there’s something here to protect or avenge... she’ll call her buddies.”

Stefan took a step forward.
“And you’re sure about this?”

“The grimoire vibrated.” She lifted her bag and patted it. “And it only does that when something evil, magical, or emotionally unstable is nearby. Sometimes all three at once.”

Tyler finally spoke.
“She... seemed nice. Said she was Mason’s friend.”

Elara turned slowly, her stare as sharp as a white oak stake.
“Tyler, ‘seemed nice’ is literally how every Disney villain starts. The woman sniffed out your transformation, asked way too many questions, and has the look of someone who already planned five attack strategies before breakfast.”

[ If I had a dollar for every time someone in Mystic Falls confused ‘nice’ with ‘threatening but charismatic,’ I’d have bought the entire mansion by now. ]

Bonnie sighed.
“Okay, then... what’s the plan?”

Elara grabbed the chalkboard, scribbled with a marker, and flipped it around to show:

Containment Plan: ‘Anti-Invasive Wolves’

*Track Jules 24/7 – (Damon and Stefan on shifts, with light witchcraft support)

*Protection circle around the mansion – (Elara and Bonnie)

*Tyler forbidden to walk alone – (no exceptions)

*Emergency supernatural kit – (see appendix: coarse salt, vervain, and Damon’s bourbon bottle)

*If all fails: RUN.

Caroline pointed.
“‘If all fails: run’ is not a plan!”

“Yes, it is. A stylish escape plan.”

[ Mystic Falls Survival Manual: Chapter 1 — run first, ask questions later. ]

Elena, who had been silent until then, spoke:
“And Elijah? He promised he’d protect all of us.”

Elara let out a dry chuckle.
“Oh, the bunny in a suit? I sent him a mystical memo. If he’s got decency, he’ll show up. If not... we’re screwed with or without him.”

Damon added:
“Trusting Originals is like trusting a cat with lasagna. You never know when everything’s gonna disappear.”

[ Confession: I just pictured Elijah stealing lasagna and now I can’t stop laughing. ]

— Outside the mansion

Jules, at a distance, leaned against her car hood, watching from afar. A discreet binocular in her eyes, a silver pendant between her fingers.

She smirked faintly at the sight of all the agitation inside the Salvatore house.
“So you’re already in panic mode... How interesting.”

She pocketed the binoculars and dialed her phone.

“They know. Advance carefully. The boy’s still useful. The redheaded witch... we’ll keep an eye on her.”

The call ended. The danger was closing in.

And this time, it came with fangs, strategy... and a pack.

[ Free translation: trouble doubled, bites tripled. ]

Post-Credit Scene — Elara’s Diary (Big Brother Mystic Falls Edition) 📝

The imaginary camera pans into the Salvatore guest room at midnight. Elara sits on the bed, hair tied messily, pajamas covered in owls that absolutely did not match the house’s gothic vibe. A crooked candle burned beside her as she opened her black-covered diary with solemnity.

She dipped a quill into ink (yes, quill, because ballpoint pens lack glamour) and began writing:

“Dear Apocalyptic Diary,

Today I hosted a crisis meeting. Damon tried to turn it into stand-up, Tyler almost signed a lifelong contract with stupidity, Caroline chewed her nails like she was auditioning for a zombie movie, and Elena... well, Elena was Elena. At least my grimoire still respects me.”

She paused, made a face, and scribbled in the corner of the page:
‘Note: buy more coarse salt. Damon drank half of it thinking it was margarita.’

She flipped the page, sighing dramatically.

“Oh, right. Jules. Werewolves. Pack. Bites. Blood. That whole thing. Translation: double the trouble, triple the bites, and me trying to keep everyone alive with a survival kit that looks more like a grandma witch’s shopping list than an actual arsenal.”

She slammed the diary shut and looked at the candle.

“If someone finds this after I die, please dramatize my life as a Netflix series with a sarcastic redhead actress and a decent soundtrack. Thanks, universe.”

End. Until the next crisis... or the next round of sarcasm — whichever comes first.

Chapter Text

Location: Forest north of Mystic Falls – late afternoon

The ground was covered in dry leaves, and the sound of branches snapping under Elara’s boots broke the forest’s silence like an annoying warning.

She glanced back, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you always walk like you’re on a runway, or only when you’re hunting witches with teenagers?”

Stefan Salvatore, serious as ever, adjusted his leather jacket and ignored the comment.

“Damon thought it’d be better if you didn’t walk alone. Jules knows too much, and the town feels off. I’m here to make sure you don’t die. Again.”

[Romantic, isn’t it? Flowers, wine, and… supernatural babysitting.]

Elara scoffed, pulling the grimoire tucked under her coat.
“How romantic. Nothing says trust like a 160-year-old babysitter.”

Stefan only allowed himself a small, restrained smile.
“And do you think anyone in that house sleeps peacefully since you showed up?”

She opened the book and murmured a few words while dripping dark wax onto a stone.

“Occultatum. Revelare ambitum. Magia... surgeat.” — her voice came out low and rhythmic.

The air around the stone seemed to vibrate for a moment, and a pale circle lit up around it.

Stefan approached carefully.
“This is...?”

“A mark. Magic. Someone cast a location spell here. Strong enough to leave traces weeks after.” — She crouched down, examining the dirt. — “But it’s not Jules. Not werewolf magic. It’s ritual. Deep. Ancient roots.”

Stefan frowned.
“Any idea who?”

Elara ran her fingers over the circle, shivering as her skin prickled.
“No... but whoever it was left enough energy to fuel a long-range tracker. This is witchcraft. Jules is just the messenger.”

Stefan took a few steps and noticed something on the ground.
“Was this... a fire pit?”

“Ritual fire. Someone held a summoning here. Jules might have pinned the location with GPS, but someone else conjured a magical route. I’d bet my grimoire that they’re the ones behind the pack heading here.”

[If the grimoire starts charging rent, I support it. It’s working harder than half of them anyway.]

Stefan studied her more closely.
“This changes everything.”

“Exactly. And there’s more.” — Elara pulled her phone from her pocket. — “She’s been texting for days. Always the same numbers. And all of them are... inactive. Masked. Whoever she’s calling... isn’t human.”

She looked at him, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“And definitely not friendly.”

Salvatore Mansion — living room, night

Damon, leaning against the piano, studied the map Elara had drawn by hand with runes and energy traces.
“So Jules is just the pretty face of the operation?”

“Exactly. The PR face. But someone way darker is funding the commercial.”

Bonnie entered with a grimoire in her hands.
“I found this symbol here. It was used by a sect of exiled witches who believed in aligning lunar power with spiritual possession.”

Elara froze.
“Possession... as in, using wolves as magical vessels?”

Bonnie nodded slowly.
“The idea was to make wolves more than wolves. To turn them into conduits of violent magic.”

Stefan looked up, serious.
“They’re preparing the pack for more than a fight. They’re preparing living weapons.”

Damon chuckled darkly.
“Fantastic. Now we’ve got magically juiced-up werewolves. Where’s Klaus when you need a worse nightmare?”

[That line deserves a tattoo. ‘Where’s Klaus?’ should be the town’s official motto.]

Elara looked at them all and declared:
“Maybe we should stop waiting for the Bunny in a Suit to save the town. Maybe it’s time we become the monsters under the bed.”

Forest — clearing entrance, distant view

Jules, alone, spoke on her phone:
“They know. They already feel the approach. Keep the route.”

The voice on the other end was metallic, distorted:
“Continue with the plan. When the moon rises, Mystic Falls will fall.”

She hung up, turned... and stared directly at a tree where a fresh blood-marked spiral had been drawn.

She smiled.
“Showtime.”

[And here we go. If it all goes wrong, at least it makes for a great Netflix season.]

Author’s Note: And that’s how, dear readers, we discovered Mystic Falls doesn’t just have dramatic vampires — it also has crossfit werewolves sponsored by a witch cult. 🐺✨ [picture the commercial: “Gain muscle, lunar power, and possess your soul in up to 12 installments with no interest!”]
Meanwhile, Elara remains CEO of strategic paranoia, Stefan keeps rocking his serious-faced babysitter role, and Damon… well, Damon keeps being Damon (which is basically liquid chaos).
Now the question that haunts us all: will the pack bring mystical whey protein or just the apocalypse? 👀

Chapter Text

Forest’s edge – early evening

The moon wasn’t full yet, but the darkness already felt dense. Elara’s map of runes and magical symbols glowed with a faint light.

She knelt to draw a new protection circle. Bonnie and Stefan watched cautiously.

“Ready to reinforce the forest perimeter?” she asked, fingers tracing the symbols.

Bonnie clutched the grimoire and nodded.
“Verbena circle, rock salt, and intermittent ward runes. But something’s wrong... I felt a fade-out halfway through the spell.”

Elara looked up.
“A sabotage spell. This isn’t just werewolf brute force — it’s ritualistic.”

“I noticed,” Bonnie said, voice tight. “And I knew it wasn’t human. The source that erased my enchantment... it was ancient. Ancestral power.”

Stefan clenched his fist.
“So Jules didn’t do this.”

“No,” Elara confirmed. “She only marked the hounds. Whoever’s actually reversing magic... knows more than she ever will. We need to find out before someone steps into the wrong trap.”

[Author brain here: Stefan has such strong “dad-at-the-barbecue realizing someone stole the steaks” energy.]

Salvatore Mansion — living room, midnight

Damon was shoving pins into an improvised tracking map.
“If this spell was reversed... that means someone knows where each circle is. It’s not random.”

“Exactly,” Elara replied. “So we can assume they’re stress-testing our limits. Studying how to bypass our wards.”

Caroline stormed in, worry written all over her face.
“They broke my protective spell at the front gate,” she said, arms crossed.

Bonnie held up the grimoire, showing scorched marks across the page.
“The runes were erased... from the inside. Not mechanically. By magic.”

Damon hurled his mug onto the couch.
“This crap is personal.”

Elena, quiet until now, spoke softly:
“If they’re studying our magic, it’ll be a dirty magical war. And we can’t win by standing still.”

Elara smirked, sarcasm sharp.
“Then time to open the dirty book. I want to trace the witch who’s testing our defenses.”

[Mental note from author: Damon has officially turned the living room into a mystical call center and no one’s calling him out.]

Mystic clearing — predawn

Elara, Bonnie, and Stefan returned to the clearing where the ritual fire had been found. The air was heavy.

“Bonnie, draw radar containment circles,” Elara instructed.

Bonnie murmured:
“Circumvolo captus. Vincula perceptio...”

The ground glowed into a web of light.

Elara stepped inside the lines, feeling a magical pulse rise beneath her feet.
“It’s activating...”

“It’s a living rune,” Bonnie completed. “It reactivates every time someone approaches.”

Suddenly, the wind stilled. The circle burst into a soft flash. The runes died out.

Elara collapsed to her knees, gasping.
“Whoever this is... they know exactly how to dismantle our strongholds.”

Stefan offered his hand.
“And you feel this person is... close?”

Elara brushed her fingers across the dirt.
“I do. Like a latent pulse — familiar — but distant. Someone practicing... scepter magic.”

Salvatore Mansion — late night, Elijah consult

After sending a mystical message, Elara received her reply — Elijah’s elegant silhouette stepping soundlessly into the room.

“You’re dealing with tribal magic,” he said gravely. “This predates Jules. It’s ancestral — likely tied to the wolf bloodlines that survived the original massacre.”

Arms crossed, Elara demanded:
“You know who they are?”

Elijah shook his head.
“Not yet. But if they’re unraveling Bennett spells, they’ve accessed forbidden craft. And if they converge with the wolves following Jules — under her lead — there will be chaos before the moon rises.”

Damon interjected:
“They’re not waiting for Klaus’s official ritual?”

Elijah’s smile was thin, cold.
“If there’s a chance to spark conflict, these wolves won’t wait. Elara, you already mapped the town?”

She flipped open the grimoire.
“Already done. They’ve tested my weapons. Next round will be silent.”

“Then let chaos begin.” Elijah exhaled.

[Author note: Elijah always drops those dramatic one-liners. You just know he practices them in the mirror.]

Forest — second test

Elara, Stefan, and Bonnie moved along the treeline where the circles had been set. Everything seemed quiet — until:

A massive wolf stepped through the enchanted circle, but it didn’t shift — it held its human form, eyes feral. It howled. The runes sizzled and burned out.

Damon appeared behind them, ready to strike.

Elara raised her hand.
“Don’t touch.”

The wolf-man smirked, stepped back into the darkness, and vanished without a trace.

Bonnie gasped.
“They’re testing, watching... calculating.”

Elara drew in a sharp breath.
“We’re in a war. This is only the beginning.”

[And of course, Elara always gets the final dramatic trailer line. Congrats, girl — you could narrate a movie teaser now.]

Post-Credit Scene — Elara’s Diary

“Dear diary, today I learned my protection circles are basically Wi-Fi passwords: there’s always someone who finds a way to hack them. 😒

Stefan is still playing 24/7 security guard, Bonnie is basically turning into human antivirus software, and Damon... well, Damon turned our strategy map into a mystical version of Risk. [Because obviously, if something can be turned into dumb entertainment, he’ll make sure it is.]

Oh, and that creepy wolf who walked through my spell like it was a grocery store gate? Yeah, still processing that. I think I’ll need therapy... or just more wine.

Signed: Elara, the witch who apparently needs to patent even her rock salt circles before someone clones them.”

Chapter Text

Mystic Falls Forest – late afternoon

Fog began to settle like a damp whisper among the trees, coating everything with an air of indecision. Tyler walked slowly along the trail, steps hesitant, senses far too sharp. The world felt more… alive. Intense. Threatening.

“Stop sniffing the grass again,” a voice called from behind him. “It’s still just grass, not meat.”

Elara, perched on a fallen log, watched with her grimoire open in her lap. She nibbled a cookie like she was analyzing a newly tamed wild animal.

Tyler stopped and huffed.
“You followed me?”

“I tracked you. Polite version of ‘stalking.’” She closed the grimoire and stood. “The forest is full of magical trails and wolves that smile before they bite. And you’re here, walking like you forgot you almost broke your spine last week during transformation.”

“I just… needed to breathe.”

She crossed her arms.
“The forest isn’t the best place for that, little wolf. Especially with Jules prowling around like HR trying to recruit new employees.”

[Author note: HR-level recruitment, but the benefits are collective bites only.]

Tyler turned his face away.
“She understands what I’m going through.”

Elara raised an eyebrow.
“Sure. Because nobody else here saw your transformation. Nobody cleaned your blood. Nobody helped you stay conscious. Oh wait… I did that.”

Tyler lowered his eyes.
“I didn’t mean you didn’t help…”

“But you think she ‘understands better,’ huh?” She exhaled. “Instinct is great. Until it drags you into a hole.”

Mystic Grill – back table, later

Tyler sat with Jules in a dark corner. She was relaxed, almost casual for someone so dangerous.

“Still feel pain?” she asked.

“No. Just… faster. More alert. I can smell everything. Even the kitchen trash.”

Jules laughed.
“Welcome to the beginning. The pain will come back. But freedom does, too.”

“What does that mean?”

She leaned in, voice low.
“You have to choose who you walk with, Tyler. These vampires and witches… they tolerate you now. But when the moon rises again? You’ll either be their leashed beast… or a wolf among wolves.”

Tyler hesitated.
“You want me to go with you?”

“I want you to know there’s a world beyond Mystic Falls. A place where you don’t have to hide. The pack welcomes. The pack understands.”

[Author note: pyramid marketing speech, but werewolf edition.]

Salvatore Mansion – kitchen – night

Elara poured three spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee when Caroline entered, arms crossed.

“He went out with her again?”

“Uh-huh. Grill. A chat about ‘self-acceptance with claws and fur.’”

Caroline sighed.
“You’re letting him?”

“He’s a traumatized teen with muscles. He’s going to make mistakes. The only thing I can do…” She pointed at the open grimoire. “…is put a tracking spell on him that triggers if someone tries to induce transformation outside the full moon.”

Caroline looked surprised.
“That exists?”

“Now it does. Modified from a magical containment spell. It’s like a ‘forced wolf detection device.’”

[Author note: patent pending. Available soon on Amazon Witch Prime.]

Caroline stayed quiet for a moment, then murmured,
“Thanks.”

Elara glanced sideways, feigning disinterest.
“Not for him. It’s that if he joins the pack, the chance of all of us dying increases by 87%. And I like my neck where it is.”

Tyler’s room – midnight

Tyler entered and found Elara seated in the armchair, legs crossed, tea in hand.

“Seriously?” he huffed. “You invaded my room?”

“If I told you I came in as magical mist, would it be less scary?”

[Author note: ninja witch, now also in smoke version.]

Tyler exhaled, dropping his jacket.
“You think I’m weak for considering what she said?”

Elara shrugged.
“I think you’re human. And instinct… isn’t a sin. But following the first hand extended is.”

She rose.
“You have a choice, Tyler. Not everyone in this world has that luxury.”

He stared at her for a long moment, finally asking,
“Why are you doing this for me?”

She answered before leaving:
“Because someone told me monsters aren’t born — they’re made. And I’m trying to make sure you’re not one of them.”

[Author note: someone award Elara “dark magic life coach of the year.”]

Post-Credit Scene — Elara’s Diary

Today, little wolf Tyler left the house and somehow instantly gained fans. Leather-clad women, predatory stares, motivational speeches that could shame any self-help guru.
He thinks he’s learning self-control. Little does he know that in five minutes, he’ll be trying to convince leather ladies to meditate with him in the forest.
Day’s summary: Tyler + leather jacket = fan line. Elara + grimoire + sarcasm = surviving without losing her mind. Precarious, but functional balance.

[Author note: mission of the day — keep my little wolf away from motivational cults and mass destruction. Good luck, world.]

Chapter Text

Salvatore Mansion – Main Hall – Night

The coffee table — usually home to Damon’s bourbon glasses and sarcastic remarks — was now buried under old books, grimoires, candles, and crystals scattered with purpose. Everyone was there: Elara, Bonnie, Damon, Stefan, Elena, Caroline, and even Tyler, who looked out of place but was paying attention.

The map of Mystic Falls was spread across the rug.

Elara held a red marker, gesturing like a prep-course teacher for mystical creatures.
[If the SAT had this subject, Damon would’ve tanked the essay.]

“Alright, class. If everyone pays attention, maybe we’ll only almost die this time.” She circled four points on the map. “Here, here, here, and here are where our spells were broken. Not by brute force — by magical interference. Smart. And bold.”

Bonnie added:
“Which means there’s a witch working with the pack, sabotaging defenses. Jules is just the messenger.”

Damon sipped his bourbon, leaning against the piano.
“Oh, great. Now we’ve got wolves with tech support.”
[Call 1-800-PACK for a licensed witch representative.]

“It’s not funny, Damon,” Elena snapped. “Those spells protected the city. Our homes. Us.”

“I’m laughing so I don’t start biting necks,” he shot back.

Stefan tried to calm things down.
“We need to respond. But not by striking wildly. One wrong move and we’ll become the target of something bigger.”

Elara raised her grimoire.
“I have the solution. Arcane trap spells. Ancient. Non-lethal, but effective. The kind of thing that makes wolves regret leaving the den.”

Caroline eyed her suspiciously.
“Where do you even get these spells?”

“My mother’s grimoire,” Elara answered quickly, without hesitation. “Powerful witch. Visionary. Obsessed with forbidden spells. And apparently allergic to organization, because I had to translate half of it from Latin mixed with 15th-century slang.”
[Imagine opening a grimoire and finding ‘Carpe Diem, babe’ written in the margins.]

Tyler looked up.
“They actually work?”

Elara smirked.
“I tested one on a squirrel. It exploded.”

Silence.

“…Kidding. Sort of.”
[PETA quietly sobbing in fetal position.]

Forest Clearing – Midnight

The gang — split into pairs — spread vials of vervain, salt, and containment candles in strategic spots. Bonnie drew runes into the dirt while Elara chanted softly.

Stefan, watching, asked:
“These traps… are they safe?”

“As safe as trusting Damon to babysit a toddler,” Elara replied, side-eyeing him.

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Good. Fear keeps you alive.”
[Self-help manual by Elara.]

Damon appeared with a torch.
“I set sensory traps at the main entrances. If anyone with hostile intent passes through, they’ll get a magical jolt to the ass. It was fun.”

“That wasn’t in the grimoire, was it?” Elara asked.

“Nope. That was all me.”

“Which means it’s probably explosive.” She sighed. “Great.”
[#DIYSpells not recommended.]

Roadside Watchpoint – Hours Later

Tyler sat beside Caroline, restless.
“I should be with them.”

“You are with them,” Caroline said firmly. “You’re with us. Not with her.”

Tyler glanced toward the forest.
“Jules said what’s coming can’t be stopped.”

Caroline bit her lip.
“Elara will figure something out. She always does. And Bonnie… she’s getting stronger.”

“And you?” Tyler asked quietly.

Caroline met his eyes.
“I’m a vampire trying not to let my town turn into a warzone. And you’re a werewolf trying to choose a side. Welcome to Mystic Falls’ supernatural reality.”
[Chaos newcomers integration handbook, signed Caroline Forbes.]

Citywide View – Deep Night

The traps were set.

The spells were active.

But deep in the forest, out of sight…

A hooded figure touched one of the enchanted circles.

Whispers in ancient Latin echoed through the trees. The symbols began to shift… adapt… corrupt.

The camera focused on a final rune glowing red before fading out.

Someone had learned to reverse the traps.
[Congrats, Mystic Falls. Even villains get software updates now.]

Author’s Note

Yes, dear readers, Damon decided that turning the town’s protection into a “Wolves vs Vampires vs Witches” reality show was an amazing idea. Spoiler: it wasn’t. And yes, now we have wolves with tech support… because obviously a dash of ancient magic wasn’t chaotic enough, right? sigh

Mystic Falls, if you all survive this season, you deserve a medal of survival and at least one free bourbon.

Chapter Text

Elara’s Room, Salvatore Mansion – Rainy Night

The lamp cast a soft glow on the wall, shaping shadows over the curtains. The rain fell steadily against the mansion’s roof. Inside, four figures were scattered across Elena’s room — the first time the girls’ group had been together in… far too long.

Elena, sitting on the floor, cradling a warm cup of tea.
Bonnie, by the bed, flipping through a grimoire absentmindedly.
Caroline, in the armchair, legs crossed, staring out the window.
Elara, lying on her back on the bed, fiddling with the necklace around her neck.

Silence.

The kind of silence that knows too much.

Caroline broke it.
“Does anyone else feel like we’re about to star in the next episode of Supernatural Apocalypse: Teen Edition?”
[Author’s note: yes, with a cliffhanger around every corner.]

“Definitely,” Bonnie murmured, still leafing through the grimoire. “And it doesn’t look like it ends well.”
[Author’s note: optimism, Bonnie, always.]

“Not helpful,” Elena whispered, but firmly.

Elara let out a dramatic sigh.
“Well… on the one hand, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one internally losing it. On the other, it’s worrying that the most viable plan we have so far involves magical traps made from garden herbs and recycled jars.”
[Author’s note: eco-friendly spellcraft, folks!]

“Hey!” Bonnie pointed. “The herbs are imported. And the jars have ancestral containment seals, okay?”

“—” Elara smirked. “And I’m the magical fairy of the Enchanted Forest.”
[Author’s note: good close-up, but still no wings.]

“Close. You’re just the underpaid witch of the Salvatore Mansion,” Caroline retorted.
[Author’s note: sarcasm saves humanity.]

Elena gave a faint chuckle.
“Have you noticed… this is our life now? Weapons, spells, alliances with Originals? Vampires and werewolves and… who knows what else?”

Bonnie slammed the grimoire shut harder than necessary.
“I feel like the town sinks a little more every day. Mystic Falls wasn’t built to withstand this.”
[Author’s note: seriously, someone hired the wrong architect.]

Elara turned her face to the ceiling.
“Maybe because Mystic Falls was built on this. The town breathes magic. It’s like… a magnet for supernatural disaster. And now the monsters are looking at the map and saying, ‘We’re coming too.’”

Caroline hugged a pillow to her chest.
“And we’re… what? Four girls against a pack, sinister witches, and a potential genocidal Original with a taste for suits?”
[Author’s note: and I love that last detail.]

“Basically,” Elara paused. “Except we’re not ‘just’ four girls. We have history. Scars. Knowledge. And sarcasm.”

Bonnie nodded.
“And we’re more prepared than ever.”

Elena gripped her cup.
“Sometimes I wonder… what if we lose?”

Silence returned. And this time, it hurt more.

Elara got up from the bed, walked over to Elena, and sat on the floor beside her. She grabbed her own cup, probably filled with overly sweet tea.
“Then we lose,” she said. “But with style. Fighting. With magic, bites, and reality checks. Because if the world’s going to end, I’d rather it know we didn’t bow down to anyone.”
[Author’s note: already want a t-shirt with this quote.]

Caroline gave a half-smile.
“That’s the most motivational and weird thing you’ve ever said.”

“Thanks. I train with Damon,” Elara said, dripping with irony.
[Author’s note: I take no responsibility for audience psychological trauma.]

Bonnie closed her eyes for a second.
“Either way, we need to stick together. This… this conversation… this connection. It’s what will keep us alive. Not just spells or oak stakes.”

Elena looked at each of them.
“I know I’m not a witch, not a vampire, not a sarcastic hybrid…” — she looked at Elara with a smile — “But you’re my family now. And I’ll fight until the end with you.”

Elara raised her cup.
“Symbolic toast to chaos?”

Everyone raised their drinks.
“To chaos,” they said in unison.
[Author’s note: with dramatic thunder sound effect.]

Outside, the storm raged on. But inside… something had been stitched together with words.

Elara’s Thoughts – Late Night

“I can’t tell anyone who I really am. I can’t say I know where this is going. But being with them… it reminds me why it’s worth fighting. Even if the world is falling apart, and thousand-year-old monsters are lurking…

…maybe, just maybe, we can change the ending of this story.”
[Author’s note: or at least do it with style, sarcasm, and a pinch of magic.]

Post-Credit – Elara’s Diary

Elara’s Room – Later

Elara scribbles furiously in a locked diary with a sticker that says “Disturb and Die”.

Diary Entry:

Ok, diary. Night recap:

*Book club meeting (without a book) themed “Impending Doom.”

*Current plan: defeat a millennia-old Original with basil and olive jars. Bonnie swears the jars “have ancestral seals.” Cute.

*Caroline gave the “I’m logistically planning the apocalypse” face. Classic Caroline.

*Elena is doing okay, considering her ex-boyfriends are basically a who’s who of problematic supernatural creatures.

*I delivered my motivational speech “Let’s Lose With Style.” Apparently training with Damon has its uses. Side effects: dramatic tendencies.

*Toasted to Chaos. Hope the Universe didn’t take that as a formal invitation.

Conclusion: We’re probably all screwed. But at least the team has a sense of humor (and very sweet tea).

P.S.: Need to hide this before Damon finds it and reads it aloud at breakfast.

Chapter Text

Forest near the Mystic Falls border – damp night

The fog crawled between the trees, slow and heavy, as if the very air was bracing itself for something.
[Author’s note: ominous atmosphere successfully activated.]

The magical traps had been active for two days. No one dared approach the perimeter without clearance. Tension bled from every shadow.

Bonnie, Damon, and Stefan stood watch along the outer trails. Elara, however, had volunteered to inspect a less-guarded section — partly out of stubbornness, partly because she wanted to double-check if any of the enchantments were unstable.
[Author’s note: also known as “I’ll do it myself because I only trust me.”]

She wore thin gloves, carried a magical lantern (a crystal glowing faint blue), and a weak camouflage spell.

“Let’s monitor the areas with the freshest traces…” she muttered, adjusting the protective necklace at her throat. “Of course, who better for this than the tired, underappreciated hybrid witch?”
[Author’s note: self-deprecation is my second language.]

She crouched by a rune carved into an oak trunk. The spell still pulsed faintly.

Then the ground shuddered.

A crack.

A magical current snapping.

“What—?!” Elara spun, eyes widening as one of the traps triggered only a few yards away.
[Author’s note: because OF COURSE it had to be right where she was.]

A burst of blue light tore through the trees. Dead leaves whirled into the air like the ground had trapped the wind and then released it all at once.

And then—

A muffled cry.

Elara sprinted toward it, slipping in the wet earth.
[Author’s note: grace = zero, efficiency = questionable.]

She arrived to find a body tangled in roots that had surged from the ground like living claws. The magic circle glowed, runes pulsing like serpents of light.

But the face wasn’t a wolf. Or an enemy.

It was—

“Alaric?!”
[Author’s note: plot twist! The annoying kind, not the cool kind.]

The historian writhed, trying to break free.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Elara shouted, rushing over. “You were supposed to be in town! Damon will murder you if he finds out—!”

“I tried to warn you!” Alaric strained. “I was tracking near the east road… I saw something… a shadow. Tried to circle around, got dragged here!” He gestured at the glowing trap. “The ward activated without me even stepping inside!”

Elara froze. Looked down.

No footprints inside the circle.

“Wait…”

She closed her eyes briefly, channeling magic into the floating grimoire orbiting her like an old paper drone.
[Author’s note: witch-tech is underrated.]

“Reveal hidden presence… Visum veritas!”

A glow spread from the ground. Someone had layered an illusion spell over the trap. A “magical decoy,” tricking the circle into reading Alaric as hostile.

“Son of a—!” Elara muttered, crouching and unraveling the seal with three words in Aramaic. The roots retreated.
[Author’s note: take that, scam magic!]

Alaric collapsed to his side, gasping.
“Thanks,” he managed, breathless. “That was… unpleasant.”

Elara hauled him up, eyes sharp.
“This wasn’t an accident. Someone wanted to test if we can tell friend from foe. Or worse…” She turned toward the looming forest. “They wanted to weaken our defenses before the full moon.”

Salvatore Mansion – living room – minutes later

“You set off the trap?!” Damon exploded the second Alaric walked in, Elara right behind him.
[Author’s note: Damon, subtle as a brick wall.]

“I was pulled!” Alaric snapped. “I didn’t enter the circle. Someone manipulated the magical reading.”

Bonnie frowned, eyes sliding to Elara.
“That’s possible?”

“Yes. And very difficult. Only someone with knowledge of ancient magic and strategic malice could pull it off…” Elara bit her lip.
[Author’s note: translation = someone EXTREMELY annoying.]
“In other words, we’re dealing with more than just Jules.”

Stefan turned to her.
“You think there’s another witch working with the pack?”

Elara nodded.
“Yes. And whoever it is knows enough old spellwork to bend our defenses. Not a beginner. Not local.”

“Klaus?” Elena asked quietly, finally appearing downstairs, pale and wrapped in a blanket.
[Author’s note: she hears “threat” and immediately thinks of him. Fair.]

“Not yet,” Elara said. “If it were him, we’d have lost more than one trap. But it could be… someone preparing the ground for him.”

Bonnie clutched her grimoire.
“Maybe it’s time to invoke something stronger.”

Elara inhaled slowly.
“I agree. But if we do… we’ll need something the grimoire hasn’t shown yet.”

Damon stepped closer.
“Like what?”

“Like… someone who knows exactly where these ancient magics came from.”

Silence.

All eyes fell on Elara.

She swallowed hard, the weight of the secret pressing in.
[Author’s note: that awkward moment when you know everything but can’t say it.]

“I’ll search the forgotten pages,” she deflected. “The grimoire has… voices I haven’t listened to yet. Maybe it’s time.”

Forest edge

A hooded shadow moved slowly, the illusion spell still humming faintly in their hands, residue of the triggered trap.

A low laugh slipped from hidden lips.

“Test successful. They’re alert. But… vulnerable.”
[Author’s note: the mysterious villain who loves spoiling their own evil plans.]

The figure vanished into the darkness.

Author’s Note

Okay, team, here’s the deal: this was one of those chapters where something had to happen to move the plot, but nobody important could die… yet.
[Cue Alaric, king of bad timing!]

The forest scene: I wanted Elara to show competence but also keep her flair for drama.
[“Tired, underappreciated hybrid witch” = eternal mood.]

And who better to stumble into a trap than Virginia’s unluckiest historian?
[Alaric, honey, you may be immortal, but luck is not your strong suit.]

The self-triggering trap?
[Scam magic is my brand here. Can’t win with brute force? Win with dirty tricks.]

The reveal of a shady witch helping the pack?
[Shocking! Who could have guessed?! … Okay, literally everyone. Villains are never complete without an assistant.]

Damon’s reaction?
[Always useful, always subtle, always two seconds from blowing someone up. My drama king.]

And Elara, with that big secret she won’t spill?
[Sweetheart, one day that’s going to give you a magical ulcer. Just tell them already!]

Finally, our hooded mystery villain laughing alone in the woods?
[Cliché? Maybe. Fun? Absolutely. Every story needs a shadowy figure monologuing to trees. It’s practically a law.]

Chapter Text

Guest Room – Salvatore Mansion – Midnight

The storm outside rattled the windows with violence. Lightning cracked the sky like electric fractures in the veil of night.
[Author: nature really decided to provide the dramatic soundtrack for free tonight]

Elara sat on the floor, surrounded by black candles and open books, the ancestral grimoire resting in her lap. The air was strange, heavy, like the house itself was holding its breath.

She sighed.

“Alright, Mister Anti-Social Grimoire... you win. Let’s play who can whisper more enigmatically in the dark. But no demonic possession, please. I’ve got a headache and it’s already been a very long week.”
[Author: negotiating with magical objects like they’re stubborn roommates]

Her fingers brushed the cover — it pulsed with a faint amber glow.

Bonnie had told her not to mess with the sealed sections of the grimoire without help.

But Bonnie didn’t know everything Elara already felt pulsing inside it.

She whispered the activation key:

“anima. Ostende memorias absconditas.”

The pages began to turn on their own. Slow. Each one as if moved by an invisible hand.

Until they stopped.

On a blank sheet.

Elara frowned.

“You wake me up at three in the morning just to show me... paper? Are you kidding me?”
[Author: magical equivalent of “please hold while I transfer you to the right department”]

But before she could complain further, the page bled with ink that wasn’t there seconds ago — runes, circles, symbols forming slowly, spinning like magical gears.

A whisper sliced the air. Low. Ancient. In a tongue she didn’t know — but understood.

“Ancient blood in a new vessel... forgotten voice in hybrid flesh... you called. We answer.”

Her throat tightened.

The grimoire trembled in her hands.

The candlelight twisted across the walls in odd patterns. For a moment, the room didn’t look like a room anymore — it became a path.
[Author: gothic décor with a mystical upgrade]

A magical projection bloomed — a female silhouette, shaped from shadow and embers.

“You seek weapons. Names. Spells to guard against what hunts your soul and your town. But there is always a price, Elara.”

She rose slowly.

“I’m already paying. I’m stuck here without explanation, no memory of this body’s past, and people want to kill me just because I breathe.”
[Author: résumé of her supernatural career, ladies and gentlemen]

“You are not stuck. You were chosen. You inherited blood of two natures... and now you walk between two wars.”

The floor vibrated. The grimoire flashed with visions: a wolf with golden eyes, a stone etched with symbols, a city in flames, the calm, cold stare of a man she recognized... Klaus.

Then the vision shifted.

A witch appeared. Ancient. Terrifyingly powerful. Her eyes — identical to Elara’s.

“Who is she?”

“One of the founders of the resistance cycle against the Mikaelson line. The creator of reversal spells. She left fragments of truth hidden... for when key and lock would meet again.”

“Key... and lock...” Elara repeated under her breath. “This is about me and... Klaus?”

Silence.

Then the voice:

“You are not ready to know. But the spell you seek... is here.”

The grimoire’s symbols realigned into spiraling circles.

Elara leaned closer, eyes skimming quickly.

“Multi-Species Containment Enchantment. A spell able to block magic cast by hybrids, ancient witches, and pack channeling. Requires:
– A personal sacrificial object
– Triple magical expenditure
– A vow of loyalty to truth.”

“A vow to truth...?” she echoed, confused.
[Author: magic demanding therapy first, I see you]

“You cannot lie to yourself and expect magic to obey.”

The vision started to fade.

“Wait! What if I mess it up? What if it’s not enough?”

“You are Elara. Mistakes were never the problem. Fear of trying... is.”

The candles snuffed out. The projection vanished.

The grimoire slammed shut on its own.

–– In the hallway ––

Elara leaned against the wall, pale, sweat clinging to her temples. Alive, but shaken.

“Great. Now I have a spell that might fail, a secret I can’t tell, and apparently an ancestral link to the psycho Mikaelson.” She glared at her own reflection in the mirror. “You’re doing amazing, girl. Next stop: volunteer sacrifice in a satanic ritual.”
[Author: the most accurate self-assessment in history]

She turned on her heel. Headed for the stairs.

Time to tell the Scooby Gang that things were about to get uglier.
[Author: spoiler — they won’t like it]

–– Post-Credit Scene ––

Elara’s Room – Later

(She scribbles furiously into a diary with a pen that occasionally sparks)

Diary Entry:

So. The grimoire finally talked. And no, it didn’t apologize for every time it’s given me magical migraines.

What I found out:

– My ancestry is probably tied to a clan of witches who hated the Mikaelsons. Translation: Klaus will hate me even more when he finds out. Fantastic.
– The spell we need requires me to make a vow of loyalty to truth. Apparently, ancient magic is a fan of motivational clichés.
– I have to stop lying to myself. Perfect. So now, in addition to fighting hybrids, I’ll need inner therapy sessions in the middle of the apocalypse.

Summary: I got us a powerful spell, but the price is facing my own secrets. Fair. If it all goes wrong, at least I’ll die with a clean conscience.
...Lies. I’ll die complaining.

Chapter Text

Salvatore Mansion Dining Room – Cloudy Afternoon

The large wooden table, where dinners never actually happened, was covered in mystical objects: black candles, jars with herbs, cracked crystals, a handful of vervain, and Elara’s grimoire, open to a page that pulsed faintly in gold.
[Author: the perfect setting for a class nobody asked for, but everyone needs]

Elara stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, serious expression on her face, with dark circles under her eyes that revealed she hadn’t slept since the night before.

"Alright, witches and non-witches... welcome to my masterclass on supernatural defense: edition ‘don’t let anybody die.’"
[Author: alternate title: ‘How to Survive Your Own Mistakes’]

Caroline sat on the other side of the table, leaning forward.

"You okay? You look like you fought with a book and lost."

"More or less," Elara muttered. "The part about forgotten voices wasn’t a metaphor. Apparently, the grimoire is like a Ouija board with an inflated ego."
[Author: and terrible customer service]

Bonnie, already next to her friend, studied the handwritten spell.

"This... this is old. Very old. I’ve never seen this type of enchantment with this level of energy-crossing." She turned her eyes to Elara. "Where did you get this?"

Elara shrugged with her most convincing face:

"My mom was a spell hoarder. Left some hidden inheritances. Found it last night."
[Author: the classic ‘mysterious inheritance’ excuse. Works 0% of the time.]

Bonnie didn’t answer right away. She just stared for a little too long. She didn’t fully believe it, but chose not to confront her. Yet.

Damon came in from the side, grabbing a bourbon glass, as always.

"So, is this actually urgent, or can I keep pretending I’m contributing just by drinking?"
[Author: Damon, the master of alcoholic contribution]

Stefan appeared behind him, already with a worried expression.

"Elara, what exactly does this spell do?"

"It’s a Multi-Species Containment Enchantment," she replied. "It creates a magical barrier that blocks magic cast against multiple species at the same time: vampires, witches, wolves... hybrids."

Elena, seated next to Bonnie, frowned.

"That’s possible?"

"With a triple casting, yes," said Elara. "But it needs an active magical channel" — Hi, Bonnie — "a sacrificial object" — Hi, my favorite bracelet I’ll have to burn — "and... absolute sincerity."
[Author: the rarest item of all]

Damon drank.

"Oh. Well, we’re screwed then. Nobody here has the last one."
[Author: he’s got a point]

Elara ignored him.

"Vampires can’t cast — so Stefan, Damon, and Caroline are our ‘receivers.’ Bonnie and I will perform the spell, and Elena... you’ll be the emotional link."

"What?"

Elara leaned slightly forward.

"The spell responds to truth. You’re the human among us. The heart of the whole thing. Your presence stabilizes the bond. Don’t move, don’t cry, and don’t panic. Can you do that?"
[Author: basically ‘be a rock with a heartbeat’]

Elena took a deep breath.

"I can try."

– Protected Clearing Behind the Mansion – Early Evening

The magic circle was drawn. Candles in specific points, crystals at the center, and Elara’s bracelet placed at the focus of the enchantment.
[Author: the most stylish ritual in town, even if nobody sees it]

Bonnie and Elara stood side by side, holding hands. Caroline and Stefan were inside the circle, with Elena at the center. Damon, outside, observed with a glass in hand and one eyebrow raised.

"You guys gonna sing or is this silent?" he asked.

"Damon," said Stefan, with a tired sigh.

"What? I’m here. I’m being respectful. Didn’t even complain about the eucalyptus smell."
[Author: the bare minimum, but he’s proud]

Elara closed her eyes and began to chant the ancient words:

"Vinculum protecto... corpus, sanguis, anima...
Noctis et lucis pactum...
Unite. Defendite. Contenete."

Bonnie followed the spell. The air shifted. The ground vibrated. The candles rose as if something pulled the flames upward. The grimoire floated, its pages turning.
[Author: Special effects > zero budget]

Elena hugged her knees, feeling the magical force pass through her body. The ground beneath Caroline’s feet glowed with symbols. Stefan clenched his fists. The energy wrapped around them like a second skin.

Damon felt the air grow heavy. Something was working.

The circle ended in a burst of white light that quickly disappeared.

Silence.

Then Bonnie whispered, surprised:

"It worked."

Elara collapsed onto the ground, exhausted.

"The circle is active for twelve hours. After that... we’ll need to renew it. But for now, they can walk around town without being detected or affected by magical tracking... for the time being."
[Author: fragile victory, but still a victory]

Caroline approached, with a look of genuine respect.

"You actually did great."

Elara gave her a tired smile.

"I try. Even if nobody pays me for my services as a freelance witch."
[Author: the reality of every supernatural freelance profession]

Damon snapped his fingers.

"I don’t have a paycheck for that. But I can give you bourbon as a bonus."
[Author: he thinks bourbon solves everything. And maybe it does.]

Elara rolled her eyes.

"I’ll take it. As long as it comes with ice... and magical reinforcement against wolves."

– Vision in the Forest

A shadow observed from afar.

The glow of the spell had been seen.

The hooded figure whispered something to the stone it held.

"They’re protecting themselves. But it’s not the Salvatore who is the most dangerous witch. It’s the other one.
Let’s test the defenses. Soon."
[Author: the mysterious villain loves a spoiler]

The stone glowed red.

Post-Credit Scene:

Elara’s Room – Night

(Elara is alone, facing the camera, holding a teacup releasing purple steam)

"So... that chapter, huh? We cast a heavy-duty spell, burned my favorite accessory — RIP bracelet, you’ll be remembered — and yet the mysterious villain is still out there doing monologues in the forest like he’s rehearsing for an amateur theater play."

(She sighs, taking a sip of tea)

"Look, I get that everyone loves some drama, but seriously? ‘Test the defenses’? How original. I bet the next step will be sending a werewolf holding a flare that says ‘attack me, please.’ Predictable."

(Sets the cup down with a click)

"And let’s not even talk about the ‘absolute sincerity’ part. Because nothing screams ‘magical protection’ like a group of compulsive liars trying not to hide secrets. It was a miracle it worked. Must’ve been the pity face of the mystical entities."

(Adjusts her necklace, glancing to the side as if she hears something)

"Okay, Damon’s calling me to get my ‘bonus’ bourbon. Which means I’ll have to listen to him complain that the ice isn’t artisanal. Until next time, readers. Pray I don’t end up as ritual decoration in the next scene."

(She waves to the camera, and the screen fades to black)

Chapter Text

Protected Clearing, early the next night

The air was static. The magical barrier still shimmered in golden tones, subtle as a breeze but strong as steel.
[Author: the calm before the plot storm]

Elara, alone in the center of the circle, was lighting the candles for renewal. The grimoire lay open on the ground, exactly on the page of the enchantment.

She murmured:

"Noctis et lucis pactum... unite. Defendite. Contenete."

The candles flared to life with a magical snap.

She sighed, pulling her hair back. She was exhausted.

"Trying not to die consumes way too much energy," she muttered, rubbing her eyes.
[Author: mood]

Suddenly, a dull thud reverberated through the ground. As if something very large had brushed against the barrier.

Elara froze.

"That was...?"

Another thud.

This time, harder. The circle shook, crystals sliding across the ground.

She jumped to her feet, eyes wide, senses sharpened. The grimoire began to pulse with red light.

"Oh, shit..."
[Author: the most spoken phrase in Mystic Falls]

The containment spell blazed around the clearing. A circle of energy formed — and then, a dark shape slammed into it with brutal force. Not visible enough, but big, quadrupedal, and way too fast to be human.

It was a wolf. Fully transformed.

Elara backed away.

"Full moon isn’t tonight. This isn’t normal. This is spellwork, this is a pact, this is..." she muttered, trying to stay calm.
[Author: the list of terrible possibilities is endless]

The grimoire reacted — pages flipped on their own and stopped at a note written in dried blood:

"Forced werewolf transformation: partial or full shift activated by external magic. Forbidden spell. Sign of ancestral pact with a dark channel."

The wolf attacked again. The barrier held, but vibrated like glass about to shatter.

Elara ran.

– Salvatore Mansion, minutes later

Bonnie was leaning on the couch with a cup of tea when the door burst open.

Elara stumbled in, breathless.

"SOMEONE IS FORCING MAGICAL TRANSFORMATIONS, YOUR PROTECTION BARRIER ALMOST EXPLODED, AND THE GRIMOIRE IS BEING DRAMATIC!"
[Author: perfect summary in one sentence]

Bonnie shot up.

"What? The barrier?!"

"There’s a wolf out there. Transformed. And it’s not a full moon." Elara tossed the grimoire onto the table. "Right here. ‘Forced transformation.’ Which requires a pact with... some entity or ancient channeling magic. This is ancestral spellwork. Not pack business as usual."

Damon walked in with his casual strut, biting into an apple.

"You guys scream like it’s the end of the world." He glanced at Elara. "You look like you got hit by a truck."
[Author: Damon, master of understatement]

"It was basically that. A furry truck with fangs."

Stefan was already piecing things together.

"Jules. She’s with other wolves. If any of them are working with magic... maybe even a witch..."

Bonnie frowned.

"A witch... or someone who sold their soul for power."
[Author: because that always goes well]

Caroline appeared on the stairs.

"Okay, why does it sound like the world’s ending tomorrow?"

Elara threw her arms in the air.

"Because IT IS! There’s a magic wolf trying to break the barrier that keeps you all alive! The forest is alive, the grimoire’s whispering, and I’m this close to summoning a magical sedative for myself!"
[Author: relatable]

Stefan stepped closer.

"We need to reinforce the barrier. Now. And track this creature. We can’t wait for it to break through."

Bonnie nodded.

"I’ll start right away. But... Elara, we’ll need more energy. Can you channel again?"

She took a deep breath. Stared at the grimoire. The cover seemed to... vibrate.

"I can. But if my soul flies off, please bring me back with strong coffee."
[Author: priorities]

Damon raised a hand.

"I vote for bourbon."
[Author: of course he does]

Caroline rolled her eyes.

"Priorities, Damon!"

– Clearing, moments later

Elara, Bonnie, Caroline, and Stefan were back at the site of the barrier. The traces of the attack were still visible — as if a giant creature had slammed into an invisible shield.

Bonnie whispered:

"Here. You can feel the energy... corrupted."

Stefan examined the ground.

"Wolf tracks. But... not normal ones. The claws are bigger. Deformed."

Elara took a steady breath.

"This wasn’t a natural transformation. This was magic. And if they’re messing with that... it means they’re willing to go all the way."
[Author: because normal werewolves were already trouble enough]

She placed her hand on the magical circle and closed her eyes.

The grimoire floated up to her, as if recognizing the urgency.

She began to chant:

"Restituere. Reinforce. Noctis protectio. Conclusa."

The circle glowed again. Stronger. With more layers. The barrier was reinforced.

But the warning was clear.

They weren’t just facing wolves.

They were facing something that knew magic.

– Forest, hidden camp

Jules walked between the trees, phone in hand. On the other end, a deep voice.

"Is the barrier still standing?"

"For now. But they know they’re surrounded."

"Then press harder. Make them afraid. Fear is the first crack in any spell."

She smiled darkly.

"And after that?"

"After that... we open the city the way you open a body: through the veins."
[Author: villains and their creepy medical metaphors]

Post-Credit

Elara’s Room – Later

(Elara writes frantically in a diary with a pen that has a raven feather stuck to it. The page is already full of dramatic scribbles.)

Diary Entry:

Okay, diary. Today was A DAY.

Summary:

Almost eaten by a werewolf turned by CHEAT MAGIC. Because normal wolves are so last season.

The grimoire decided to glow red and whisper prophecies. Super helpful, after I almost became dog food.

Explained the situation to the gang. Damon offered bourbon as a near-death remedy. Shockingly, I didn’t say no.

Bonnie is worried. Stefan is in Serious Mode. Caroline is mad because her routine got interrupted. All perfectly normal.

We reinforced the barrier. Again. If I channel any more energy, I’ll start glowing in the dark.

Conclusion: We’re being hunted by a magical wolf with a probable demonic pact, and my biggest fear is running out of coffee. Priorities, right?

P.S.: If I turn into a ghost, I’ll haunt Damon first. He’ll love it.

— E. (the Most Exhausted Freelance Witch in the World)

[She slams the diary shut and shoves it under the pillow, like hiding evidence.]

Chapter Text

Salvatore Mansion, living room – dusk

The room was filled with open books, hand-drawn symbols, and the faint scent of vervain.
[Author: the smell of “we’re about to do something incredibly dangerous”]

Elara, with the grimoire open in front of her, declared:

"It’s time for Espionage – ‘No Spoilers If You Kill Them’ edition. I’m going to disguise myself as a normal human to follow Jules and figure out what she’s plotting. Risky, but necessary."
[Author: mission name: Operation Shameless Face]

Bonnie, seated beside her, focused, fingers weaving a quiet spell:

"Visum mutatio... forma humilis."

A soft glow surrounded Elara, and her silhouette shifted into a plainer look.

"There. Human appearance, neutral features... I feel like I’m being watched by French people from the 18th century."
[Author: the most basic supernatural disguise ever]

Caroline flipped her hair:

"Just don’t forget vampires don’t do magic, so I’m trusting Bonnie completely here. If you get into trouble with wolves, Damon is going to hear about it..."
[Author: translation: he’ll complain a lot after saving you]

Damon raised a brow, bourbon glass in hand.

"Say you’ll come back in one piece, and we’ll toast to celebrate."

Elara rolled her eyes.

"Consider it done."

– Mystic Grill – night

Disguised Elara entered the bar. The low lights favored her camouflage.
[Author: the perfect setting for shady conversations]

She scanned until she spotted Jules, sitting alone in a dark corner.

Jules looked restless, eyes darting around.

Elara cautiously approached. The table was small — ideal for spying.

Jules smiled as Elara arrived.

"Hey. You’re new here?"

"Yeah." Elara feigned shyness. "Everyone here seems... very busy with wolves, witchcraft, and vampires. I thought a normal face might be refreshing."
[Author: the acting: worthy of a supernatural Oscar]

Jules leaned in, eyes probing.

"And you know much about this world?"

"Only what you read in supernatural tabloids," Elara replied with a light smile.
[Author: the most convincing lie since ‘it wasn’t me’]

As they chatted, Elara discreetly worked her phone with an enchanted expression — tracing Jules’ connections and picking up magical fragments on the table.

She whispered under her breath:

"Show presence... but invisible."
[Author: also useful for boring parties]

– private study, inside the house – midnight

Meanwhile, back home, Elijah was silently reading the small parchment Elara had magically sent. His face, always composed, grew even more serious.
[Author: Elijah is 0% surprised, 100% disappointed]

He looked up.

"There’s a new factor at play," he murmured to himself. "I must prepare."
[Author: translation: ‘I’m going to need another suit’]

– Mystic Grill, revealing moment

Elara faked a laugh at something Jules said, but her eyes were glued to the phone: a faint magical ping lit up the screen.
[Author: witch tech is underrated]

Jules stood, bidding her a cold farewell:

"Be careful who you trust. Not everyone understands what the supernatural world demands."
[Author: wise advice, coming from a traitor]

Elara smiled, watching her leave. As soon as Jules turned the corner, Elara let her real form settle back.

"I called Damon, Stefan, and Bonnie," she muttered. "This wolf spy knows more than she wants to show."
[Author: call the group chat, drama alert!]

Author’s Note

Alright, people, let’s break it down:

Disguise Operation: Elara pretending to be a "normal" human is the supernatural equivalent of putting on glasses and a hat and thinking no one will recognize you. [Works 0% of the time, but fun to write.]

Bonnie, the Magical Make-Up Artist: The most reliable witch to make you... basic. What a glamorous downgrade. ["Neutral features" = code for "looking like a medieval NPC."]

Damon and the Bourbon: His solution for everything, from imminent apocalypse to an ingrown toenail. [Simple man, clear priorities.]

Jules, Mistress of Suspense: Sitting alone in a dark corner of the Grill, because nothing says "I’m not suspicious" like looking exactly like a B-movie villain. [Subtlety is not her strong suit.]

Elara’s Bold-Faced Lying: "I just read supernatural tabloids" – sure, darling, and Damon is a peace ambassador. [This witch’s audacity inspires me.]

Elijah Receiving Magic Mail: Because cellphones are too mundane for an Original. [He probably has a vampire carrier pigeon for this.]

The Enchanted Phone: Even witches need a little modern tech for proper spying. [Free Wi-Fi and tracking spells, please.]

Jules’ Mysterious Goodbye: "Be careful who you trust" – thank you, Captain Obvious, I almost missed the betrayal aura. [Villains love a dramatic cliché.]

Elara Snapping Back to Normal: Because nothing beats shedding a half-baked disguise to call the Salvatores and announce, yes, the wolf is shady. [Big revelation, shocking.]

That’s it! Hope you laughed as much as I did writing this parade of subterfuge and questionable disguises. See you in the next crisis! ✨

Chapter Text

– Salvatore Mansion, basement – beginning of the full moon night

The sound of strained chains echoed like a warning. Tyler, sweaty, trembling, fought to stay in control. The walls were sealed with runic symbols and vervain, spells crafted by Bonnie and reinforced by Elara. [Author: the perfect setup for a totally normal and relaxing night]

Caroline wiped his forehead with a cloth, trying to mask the tension in her own eyes.

“You can do it again, Tyler. Just breathe slowly.”

He clenched his teeth, his jaw already aching with the pre-transformation.

“It’s worse… so much worse… like… something’s pulling me inside out!”

Elara, sitting on the floor, observed the enchantments with the grimoire in hand.

“Something’s wrong. The magic here is being pushed, like there’s a force… driving the transformation beyond what’s natural.” [Author: because a normal werewolf transformation clearly isn’t dramatic enough]

Bonnie, standing near the stairs, nodded.

“I felt it. It’s not just the moon. This is being induced.”

– Mystic Falls Forest – same moment

The moon, blazing and blood-red, tore through the clouds with a fierce light. [Author: nature decided to lend some dramatic flair]

Jules, standing with three other wolves in human form, gazed at the sky in reverence.

“It’s time.”

Behind her, a hooded man, hands covered in ancient rings, murmured in archaic Latin.

A magical pulse rippled through the woods — an invisible wave of power striking all of Mystic Falls.

– Salvatore Mansion, main hall

Stefan rushed into the room where Damon, Elena, and Bonnie were gathered in tense alert.

“The property’s barriers are failing. I felt the northern rune break.”

Damon dropped his glass of blood — his expression immediately shifting to full alert.

“That’s impossible. You guys made those protections with sweat, tears, and virgin hair!” [Author: standard spell ingredients, nothing new]

Elara, descending the stairs with the grimoire, replied:

“Someone’s tampering with lunar force. It’s forced magic. Like trying to pull a tide with your bare hands.”

Bonnie added:

“A powerful witch. Not Jules. Something else. Older.”

“Klaus, maybe?” — Elara guessed.

Stefan clenched his fists.

“We need to protect the town. Do we split up?”

Elena looked anxiously at her friends.

“And what if that’s not enough?”

Damon, already grabbing a plain wooden stake:

“Then we improvise and hope we don’t die.” [Author: plan A was always kind of vague]

Elara muttered:

“Very reassuring tactic.”

– Clearing at Fell’s Church Cemetery

Elara and Bonnie arrived running, already activating magical protections with salt circles, wolf blood (provided by Tyler days before), and common oak ashes — an ancient containment ingredient, though not lethal. [Author: the modern witch survival kit]

Bonnie pressed the spell between her fingers.

“He’s close. I feel the magical presence… crooked. Cold.”

Gideon, emerging through the mist, finally revealed himself. The hood was gone. He looked young, but his eyes… carried centuries.

“You’ve interfered in something you don’t understand.”

Elara, already irritated, shot back:

“Oh great, another centuries-old man underestimating two girls with a book and zero patience.” [Author: patience really left the chat a while ago]

Gideon smiled, sinister.

“You’re on the wrong side of change.”

Bonnie cast a spell:

“Cordis!”

A containment field glowed around them, but Gideon vanished like dust.

Elara stomped the ground.

“Magical bastard!”

Suddenly, multiple howls echoed through the forest.

Bonnie whispered, gripping the grimoire tightly:

“They’re coming.”

– Salvatore Mansion, basement

Tyler screamed, the transformation hitting too early. Bones cracked like snapping branches, skin tearing in some places. [Author: not recommended for sensitive viewers]

Stefan held the containment door with Caroline.

“He won’t make it!” — Caroline shouted.

Stefan replied:

“We have to keep him in there. If he gets out now… he could kill someone!”

Caroline glanced in panic at the floor, where the spell trembled.

– Clearing

Elara, her eyes glowing red with pure adrenaline, stood beside Bonnie at the center of the activated rune. [Author: ‘enough is enough’ mode activated]

Five wolves emerged from the trees — yellow eyes and fangs bared.

Elara shouted:

“The barrier’s still holding! If they break through… we’re screwed.”

Bonnie raised her hands.

“Then don’t let them break through!”

The first wolf lunged.

Elara cast a force spell, throwing her back against a tree.

Another bit at the edge of the rune… and then the ground trembled.

Elara snarled:

“This is Mystic Falls, you mutts. We fight dirty — and enchanted.” [Author: honestly the best definition of this town]

Post-Credits Scene – Elara

Dear diary,

Today, once again, I proved that Mystic Falls has no cure. Tyler almost tore down the basement by himself, Gideon showed up out of nowhere like some kind of VIP guest, and five hungry wolves decided to taste-test Elara’s protection rune. [Note to self: never underestimate the power of two girls with a grimoire and zero patience.]

Caroline nearly had a meltdown, Stefan held the door like an emo version of the Hulk, and Bonnie… well, Bonnie did what she always does: look amazing while the world almost ended. Oh, and Damon? Obviously drinking blood, watching the disaster with that raised eyebrow that says, “I told you so, but no one listens.”

And Tyler? Poor guy. Early transformation, bones cracking, screams so loud even the red moon probably thought twice before showing up. [Author: not recommended viewing for the faint of heart.]

Summary of the day: 1) Mystic Falls is still dangerous. 2) Wolves and magic are a terrible combo. 3) I love writing this.

Now I’m off for some coffee and praying no vampire or wolf ever reads my diary… or worse, realizes I’m laughing at them while writing.

Chapter Text

The magical barrier trembled beneath the distant howls that echoed over Mystic Falls like ancestral thunder. The sky, choked with clouds, hid the full moon that ascended — cruel and merciless. Outside the glowing perimeter of salt and runes burning in white fire, three wolves in their bestial forms attacked with ferocity.

One hurled itself against the barrier with brutal force — the energy flared, crackling like glass about to shatter.

"They’re testing the limits!" Bonnie shouted, hands raised, eyes glowing pure white as she fueled the spell.

Damon emerged from between the trees, drenched in blood — partly his own, partly not. Beside him, Elara panted, her fingers raw and bloody from scrawling glyphs into the soaked earth. Stefan appeared close behind, his expression taut.

"This thing won’t hold much longer!" Stefan warned. "Caroline stayed in the cellar with the boy. Tyler’s starting to shift."

"Perfect. Just what we needed: furballs on the loose and the barrier crumbling," Damon sneered, wiping his blade clean on his shirt.

Elara shut her eyes, pressing her palms to the ground. "I’ll try to seal the sides of the barrier and funnel the strength into the center. But it’ll leave me vulnerable." She glanced quickly at Stefan. "Cover me?"

"Always," he answered without hesitation, stepping in front of her.

A wolf shattered part of the northern line of magic.

Meanwhile, Caroline couldn’t help — she was in the cellar, locking Tyler down as he writhed, veins bulging, joints snapping beneath the curse of the moon.

Cellar of the Salvatore Mansion – Same Moment

Tyler knelt, arms chained, body convulsing. Claws burst from his fingers. The pain was unbearable. With every heartbeat, the monster under his skin roared louder.

"You have to hold on," Caroline urged, clutching the enchanted iron that kept the circle glowing.

Tyler screamed. A howl ripped through his throat.

"They’re in danger out there... I can help... I need to help!" he snarled, yanking at the chains with desperate strength.

"If you go out now, you’ll kill someone, Tyler!" Caroline shouted back, voice firm though her eyes brimmed with tears. "I’ve been through this. You have to fight him... now!"

Tyler panted. He wept. But he didn’t lunge forward.

The wolf stayed caged... for now.

Moonlit Battlefield – Aftermath

The creatures retreated. Bonnie staggered, drained. Elara, her eyes dimmed, collapsed to her knees. Damon caught her, grumbling as he steadied her.

"You’re not dying here, witchy. I don’t even owe you anything yet," he muttered, hiding his concern.

"I’m fine... just drained," Elara whispered, forcing her breath to steady.

Stefan surveyed the field. Blood and runes smeared the ground. The wolves had pulled back, but it was clear: this was not the end. It was the opening move.

"That was just a test," he said quietly. "They’ll be back."

Damon nodded, grim for once. "And next time... they won’t come alone."

Cellar – Later

Caroline wiped sweat from her brow. Tyler, finally unconscious after the transformation, lay in the corner, his body covered only by a sheet. His breathing was ragged. She looked at him with quiet sorrow.

"You’re not a monster... you’re just trying to survive."

From upstairs, footsteps echoed. Elara descended slowly, pale but steady.

"They retreated. For now," she reported.

Caroline nodded in silence.

"This won’t stop, will it?" Caroline asked softly.

"No," Elara answered. "And the worst part? I can’t shake the feeling we’re dancing to the tune of someone who hasn’t even shown their face yet."

Her gaze fell on Tyler.

"And if he breaks completely... we’ll have another problem inside these walls. Not outside."

Caroline pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

The war had begun. And no one was ready.

[Extra Minutes from the Mystic Falls Condominium Meeting]

Tonight’s Situation: three wolves tried to breach the perimeter, the barrier nearly collapsed, Tyler almost broke his chains, Bonnie nearly passed out from spell overload, Elara nearly turned into a magical battery, Damon almost pretended he didn’t care (but he did 👀), and Stefan almost aged 200 years from stress.

General Summary:

Caroline = official basement manager 🏠🐺

Tyler = “problem tenant” having a breakdown during the meeting 🐺🔗

Damon = complaining while helping (as usual) 🍷

Bonnie = deserves a vacation but only gets more work ✨

Elara = already suspects someone is pulling the strings backstage 🎭

Conclusion: The war has begun, and the stress levels of the Mystic Falls condo have officially hit 200%. Next meeting promises shouting and extra howling.

Chapter Text

The first light of day touched the leaves, wet with blood and dew, mixing beauty and desolation. The clearing’s ground still reeked of burned spells, upturned earth… and death.

Damon cleaned the dagger, spinning it in his hand before sliding it into its sheath. His clothes were torn, his arms covered with cuts that healed slowly. Even with vampire blood in his system, the wolves’ attacks had left deep marks.

“If I had a dollar for every scar I’ve gotten trying to protect this ungrateful town, I’d already be retired in Aruba,” he muttered, kicking the corpse of one of the wolves that hadn’t been as lucky as the others.

Stefan, standing a few meters away, was tracking a trail of blood that disappeared into the forest. He was more serious than usual—his gaze darker.

“Some escaped. Bleeding, yes, but alive,” he said. “And not the kind who will hide for long.”

“Great,” Damon replied with sarcasm. “I love when they come back with friends.”

Bonnie and Elara were sitting by the magical barrier, now just a faded trace of ashes and extinguished runes. Both were breathing with difficulty. The magical battle had drained almost everything.

“Elara, can you still sense any of them nearby?” Bonnie asked, her voice lower than usual.

Elara closed her eyes. She touched the soil with her palm. A faint tremor ran through her fingers.

“A group went north… probably regrouping. I can’t sense them precisely. But they’re wounded. Scared. And…” she frowned. “They’re receiving instructions.”

“Instructions? From who?” Elena asked, approaching the group with a cut on her arm and her face hardened.

Elara slowly opened her eyes. “Someone who wasn’t here tonight. But… who was watching.”

Stefan turned to face her. “Jules?”

“Maybe. But not alone.”

Damon crossed his arms. “This is starting to stink worse than the Salvatore basement. If these wolves have a general, we’re fighting in the dark. And I hate fighting in the dark.”

Caroline emerged from the bushes, her expression worried. “Tyler woke up. He’s… unstable. He said he heard voices while he was trapped. Something about ‘the ancients calling.’”

Everyone exchanged glances. Silence.

“This isn’t just lupine mysticism,” Bonnie said in a low voice. “It’s ancestral magic. Someone powerful enough to invoke the memory of blood.”

Elara struggled to her feet. Her hands were still trembling, but her voice came out steady. “We need to go after the survivors before they reorganize. And seal the city’s weak spots. The ley lines have been unstable since the last full moon.”

“And what do we do with Tyler?” Caroline asked, worried.

“We take care of him. But if he turns against us, we have to be ready,” Elara answered, surprising even herself.

“Well, look at that—the princess grew claws,” Damon said with a side-smile, though a trace of pride lingered in his eyes.

⛓ Forest, a few hours later

The group had split up. Stefan and Caroline were tracking the trails with vampiric speed; Damon and Elara followed more slowly, tracing the magical remnants. The silence between Damon and Elara was tense. Both were covered in dust, recent wounds, and barely concealed sarcasm.

“You almost fainted yesterday,” he said without looking at her.

“And you almost got torn apart,” she replied, dryly.

“But I didn’t.”

“Neither did I.”

They locked eyes for a brief instant. Then Damon murmured, “You should rest.”

“I’ll rest when they’re dead.”

“Fair enough.”

🌕 Omens

Bonnie knelt beside a scorched symbol on a tree. It was new. It hadn’t been there before the battle.

“This isn’t theirs,” she said, touching the trunk. “It’s a magical signature.”

“Whose?” Elena asked. She looked toward Elara. The two exchanged a tense, knowing glance.

“Someone very old. And very patient.”

Elara swallowed hard. The magic reverberated inside her like a constant shiver.

“We’re being watched.”

The imaginary camera would then pull back, rising over the forest as mist curled between the trees. Far away, atop a hill, a hooded figure watched with glowing eyes—before vanishing with the wind.

📓 Apocalyptic Diary of Elara

Woke up today, went to fight murderous mutant wolves. Result: broken nails, hair full of magical ash, and Damon trying to play the sarcastic hero. Nothing new on the front.

Tyler is still stuck in “existential crisis puppy” mode. Honestly, if I got a dollar every time someone yelled “hold him down!”, I’d have already bought a house far away from Mystic Falls.

Night recap: wolves attack, barrier breaks, Bonnie almost becomes a human battery, Stefan in silent Batman mode, Caroline in babysitter mode, Damon in “bleeding jester” mode... and me? In “if I drop dead on the floor, throw glitter on the body and pretend it was planned” mode.

✨ Mental note: next time, buy werewolf repellent. Probably on the same shelf as infinite patience.

Chapter Text

Lockwood House – Tyler’s Room – Late Afternoon

The sunset light filtered through the heavy curtains of the room, tinting the walls with a melancholic gold. The sound of the wind outside passed through the branches like an ancient whisper, as if nature itself were holding its breath.

Tyler was lying against the headboard, his bare torso covered with gauze and stains of dried blood. His muscles were tense, not only from physical pain—but also from the weight of guilt, fear, uncertainty. His eyes were fixed on the opposite wall, but they didn’t seem to see anything.

Elara entered quietly, making no sound. She carried a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. Her face showed exhaustion, but her eyes still held firmness. She pulled a chair, sat by the bed, and dipped the cloth.

“This will sting a little,” she said softly, without waiting for permission.

Tyler only nodded, the gesture almost imperceptible. She began cleaning one of the cuts on his shoulder. His skin tightened under her touch.

“You fought well,” she said, breaking the silence. “Even though you were almost transforming. You managed to control yourself.”

“I did… because I was locked up,” his voice came out hoarse, bitter. “If I had been free, maybe I would’ve attacked you.”

Elara paused for a moment, then continued cleaning gently.
“But you didn’t.”

“Not yet.”

She tilted her head, observing him.
“Tyler, you have a choice. What Jules and the others say—about the wolf taking over, about not having control—it’s only part of the truth. You are not just that. And you’re not alone.”

He scoffed, turning his face away.
“You say that as if it were easy.”

“It’s not. Not at all,” she replied firmly. “But look where we are. You came back. You’re whole. And you listened to me, even when you were almost losing control. That matters.”

A long silence followed. The sound of the bowl being set on the table. Elara stood and walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink. She sighed, as if trying to capture a moment of calm before the next storm.

“When I transformed for the first time… I thought I had lost myself forever,” Tyler said suddenly, his voice low, sincere. “But now… now it’s different. Since you came. Since you started training me.” He hesitated, his eyes shifting toward her. “When I’m near you… I feel more human.”

Elara turned slowly, surprised. But there was something in her eyes that wasn’t shock—it was pain.

“Then hold on to that, Tyler. Hold on to that part of you. Because this war will still take a lot from us.” She sat down beside him again. “And when everything turns dark, it’s that memory that will keep you in control.”

He nodded. Slowly. Almost vulnerable. Then, in an unexpected gesture, he reached out and placed his hand over hers. Their fingers intertwined without words.

In that moment, there were no spells, no wolves, no plans, no curses. Only two young people trying to hold onto the fragments of what was still real.

Salvatore House – Main Room – Early Night

The massive wooden table was covered with scribbled maps, open spell books, and scattered notes marked with coffee stains and dried blood. The lit fireplace cast flickering shadows across the walls, as if the house itself were restless.

Damon leaned against the counter with a glass of whiskey, swirling the liquid without drinking. Elena sat on the couch, hands folded in her lap, exhausted but focused. Caroline paced back and forth like a lightning bolt, clearly irritated. Bonnie flipped through a grimoire, her eyes red from lack of sleep. Stefan watched everything in silence, arms crossed, his face tense.

Elara entered and immediately felt the weight in the room.
“So, any plan that doesn’t involve dying horribly?” she tried to break the ice with a light tone, but no one laughed.

Damon gave her an ironic smirk. “Well, we have three options: run, die, or bet everything on magic that probably won’t work. Anyone want to draw straws?”

Caroline huffed. “This isn’t the time for sarcasm, Damon. The magical barrier that Bonnie and Elara created held the wolves for a few hours, but it won’t last another night. They were testing our limits. And now they know where we failed.”

Bonnie closed the grimoire with a snap. “I can reinforce the barrier, but we’ll need more energy—much more. And specific ingredients. Rare ones.”

“Like what?” Stefan asked.

“Black cypress ash, consecrated cemetery soil, and… blood of an ancestral creature.” She exchanged a tense look with Elara. “And it’ll require a channelling ritual. It’s not just candles and ‘abracadabra.’”

Damon raised an eyebrow. “Well, I vote we skip straight to the practical solution: hunt the wolves before they attack us again. Take down Jules while she’s vulnerable.”

“She’s not vulnerable,” Elara corrected him, serious. “I found out she’s in contact with a witch. Someone guiding her moves. She’s not just a lone alpha… she’s part of something bigger.”

A heavy silence fell. Even Caroline stopped pacing.
“Are you sure?” Elena asked.

Elara nodded. “I used a disguise spell and saw. She’s sending coded magical messages. Like she’s organizing a coordinated attack.”

Stefan stepped forward, his voice low but firm. “Then we need to split up. Damon, Caroline, and I will track her hideout. Elara and Bonnie handle the ritual. Elena… you help protect Tyler. He can’t get caught in the middle of this.”

“And what if she’s expecting that?” Bonnie countered. “What if this move is a trap?”

Damon smiled with a predatory gleam. “Then the trap better be ready for us.”

Caroline took a deep breath. “We need codes. Constant communication. None of us acts alone.”

“And no heroics,” Stefan looked directly at Damon.

Damon feigned indignation. “Me? Heroic? Never.”

Bonnie sighed, already rising with the grimoire. “I have to prepare the protection circle. It’ll take hours. Elara, with me?”

Elara nodded. But before leaving, she looked at them all. The firelight cast firm shadows across her face.
“We won’t win with brute force. We’ll win by being smarter, more united. And above all… by not letting them turn us into monsters too.”

Everyone nodded. The tension didn’t vanish, but the decision was made. The group split into pairs, moving in different directions of the house—like chess pieces taking their places for what could be the final move.

📓 Elara’s Supernatural War Diary

Quick summary because I’m exhausted: Tyler almost turned into a kamikaze werewolf, but instead he held my hand and gave me an indie-movie speech. Sweet, but also terrifying.

Meeting at the Salvatore house = funeral atmosphere, with Damon handing out free sarcasm and Bonnie demanding ingredients from the supermarket of hell. Stefan in general mode, Caroline in thunderstorm mode, Elena in “protector of world peace” mode… and me? Version “if there’s glitter left, we’ll use it in the ritual.” ✨

Mental note: get a loyalty card for the apocalypse. I’ve earned a discount already.

Chapter Text

Fell's Church Cemetery – Midnight

The air was thick as an invisible mist, heavy with ancient magic and the metallic scent of wet earth. Elara and Bonnie stood in the center of an old stone circle, black candles burning all around them, flickering against a wind that came from nowhere. Consecrated earth was spread in rune shapes, mixed with cypress ash and drops of ancestral blood that Bonnie had obtained with… Elena’s help.

“Are you sure you want to use this spell?” Bonnie asked, her voice low but firm. “This kind of magic plays with the veil. It can pull out more than we want.”

Elara was kneeling, eyes fixed on the open grimoire before her. “If we want to keep the barrier and stop the wolves from destroying half the city… yes. I want to. And I’ll endure it.”

Bonnie sighed and nodded. “Then give me your hand.”

The two of them intertwined their fingers. Magic pulsed like an invisible current. The flames around them turned blue, flickering as if time itself was vibrating.

Bonnie began to chant in ancient Latin while Elara closed her eyes and let the magic pour through her. Blurred visions crossed her mind—ancient symbols, golden eyes in the forest, a hoarse whisper calling her name… and a strange presence, as if someone was watching from the other side of the veil.

“Elara?” Bonnie squeezed her hand. “Focus. Don’t let him in.”

“Him who…?”

But before the question could be answered, one of the circle’s stones cracked in half, as if split from within. The main rune glowed bright red. The ground trembled.

Bonnie stood. “Something is trying to interfere. This isn’t just wolf power.”

Elara lifted her eyes, sweat running down her forehead. “The warlock helping Jules… he’s trying to break the barrier from inside the astral plane.”

“Then we have to finish before he finds a breach.”

They pushed harder. The light grew, and a sudden gust of wind blew in all directions, extinguishing half the candles.

Bonnie shouted the final spell, and Elara hurled her mind forward to seal the circle.

When the energy finally ceased, both collapsed to their knees, exhausted but alive.

“The barrier… it’s reinforced. For now.”

“For now, yes,” Elara murmured, staring at the sky. “But he’s closer than we think.”

Hunt in the Forest

Northern edge of the city – Forest line

Damon walked ahead with light steps, sharp-eyed, moving like the predator he was. Stefan followed quietly, watchful. Caroline, on the other hand, muttered under her breath as she wiped a spiderweb off her face.

“Perfect. Midnight in the forest, hunting wolves with two vampires who would probably make jokes if I lost an arm.”

Damon smiled without looking back. “Only if you screamed funny.”

“Damon,” Stefan cut in. “Movement on the left.”

They hid behind thick tree trunks. There were partially human footprints on the ground—bare feet marked with claws. Fresh. And the smell of burnt werewolf skin still lingered in the air.

“Two of them. Jules and the younger male. The big one,” Damon said. “If they’ve seen us, they’ll try to pull us into an ambush.”

Caroline pointed. “But if we circle that way, we can reach the camp from the south.”

“Or walk straight into their arms.” Damon smirked. “My favorite part.”

Stefan ignored the irony. “We go south. Fast and silent.”

The trio moved like shadows. Until, rounding a moss-covered cliff, they saw something in the distance: a clearing marked with drawn symbols—more magic. And Jules, sitting calmly at the center, her eyes glowing under the half-covered moon. But she wasn’t alone.

Beside her, a hooded figure held a silver artifact, chanting in an ancient tongue.

Damon narrowed his eyes. “Well, this wasn’t on the invitation.”

Caroline whispered, “It’s the warlock.”

Stefan took a deep breath. “We can’t strike head-on. We have to wait for the right distraction.”

“Or make one,” Damon said, grinning with that spark of madness in his eyes.

Author’s Note

Hey everyone, how’s it going? 🌙✨
So, while writing this chapter, I couldn’t stop thinking: how did Bonnie never sue the Salvatores for emotional damages? If it were me, I’d have demanded lifetime therapy. 😂

Also, we need to talk about Damon in the middle of the forest: the guy is literally surrounded by werewolves but keeps cracking jokes like he’s at a stand-up show. Priorities, right? 🍷🐺

And of course, Caroline being the only one with actual self-preservation instincts. A queen who complains about spiderwebs before the fight, but still delivers when it matters. 💅

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the tension, the near-death spellwork, and the sarcastic banter in the middle of disaster. Next chapter promises more chaos, more Damon being Damon, and, yes, probably more magical stones breaking for no reason.

Chapter Text

Forest Clearing – Northern Edge of the City

The wind was colder there. The moon, hidden behind thick clouds, revealed only silver flashes on the damp ground. The smell of earth mixed with dried blood clung to the air. Damon crouched behind a fallen trunk, watching Jules at the center of the magical circle. Beside her, the hooded figure murmured in a hypnotic rhythm, holding a silver medallion that reflected the light as if it were alive.

“He’s pulling energy from somewhere…” Stefan said, his voice barely audible. “That’s not werewolf magic.”

Damon narrowed his gaze. “I’d bet my last stash of bourbon it’s the same ‘somewhere’ Bonnie and Elara are using.”

Caroline’s eyes widened. “So if we mess with him… we mess with them too?”

Damon gave a half-smile. “Only if we’re not subtle.”

Cemetery – Circle of Protection

Bonnie gripped Elara’s hand tightly. The candles flickered as though an invisible storm hovered over them.

“Do you feel that?” Bonnie asked, her breath quickening. “It’s like someone’s trying to pull us out of our own bodies.”

Elara closed her eyes and saw flashes: the clearing, Jules, and a hooded silhouette. The energy he wielded crept in like black threads, trying to twist around their spell.

“It’s him…” Elara murmured, sweat trailing down her temple. “He’s here and there at the same time…”

Bonnie frowned. “Then we have to cut those threads before he shatters the barrier.”

The ground trembled faintly.

Clearing – First Move

“Time to crash the party,” Damon whispered, sneaking around the edge. Stefan stayed in the rear, studying the pattern of magic on the ground. Caroline crept from the opposite side, each step careful not to snap a twig.

When Damon was less than ten meters away, the warlock stopped chanting and raised his head, as if he had scented something. His eyes—completely white—turned straight toward Damon.

“Damn it,” Damon muttered.

In an instant, Jules stood, her transformation already beginning, bones cracking beneath her skin. Her growl tore through the silence of the night.

Stefan didn’t wait any longer. In a swift movement, he leapt at the warlock, but a pulse of energy threw him back, slamming him against a tree. Caroline rushed to intercept Jules, but the wolf already had too much strength, even without being fully transformed.

Cemetery – Interference

Elara bent forward, gasping as though struck in the chest.

“Stefan’s been hit!” she blurted without thinking.

Bonnie tightened her grip. “Focus, Elara! If you break the connection now, they’re on their own.”

The warlock’s energy pounded against the circle like violent waves. Elara shut her eyes and launched a counterattack with her mind: a flash of golden light slicing through the black threads.

Clearing – Full Combat

The warlock’s medallion cracked under the burst of light Elara sent. He shouted something in an unknown tongue, and the entire clearing exploded in red sparks. Damon seized the moment of distraction, lunging at him, his hand on the man’s throat, trying to break his concentration.

Jules, now with fully golden eyes and bared fangs, hurled herself at Caroline. The impact sent them rolling across the ground, trading blows—claws against vampiric speed. Caroline dodged by inches, but every scratch burned like liquid fire.

Stefan returned to the fight, sliding in from behind and stabbing Jules in the shoulder with an improvised stake, buying only a few seconds.

“Damon, finish him!” Stefan shouted.

The warlock unleashed one last spell, a wave of energy blasting everyone out of the circle. He and Jules vanished into the darkness of the forest, leaving only the stench of ozone and blood in the air.

Cemetery

Bonnie and Elara felt the connection snap abruptly. The circle shook, the candles went out all at once, and silence fell.

Elara slowly opened her eyes. “They escaped.”

Bonnie drew in a long breath. “Then that means next time… they won’t be hiding.”

Elara looked toward the horizon, where the faintest light of dawn was breaking. “And neither will we.”

Author’s Note – Forest HOA Announcement

Dear Residents,

We regret to inform you that last night’s clearing meeting was interrupted due to: one nosy vampire, one cranky werewolf, and a warlock with questionable taste in silver jewelry. 🧛‍♂️🐺🔮

We apologize for the noise of bone-cracking and magical explosions during the night—landscaping repairs will begin soon, once the burnt pentagrams and broken logs are cleared away.

We also remind everyone that interspecies fights must be scheduled in advance with the building manager (which is clearly not Damon, since he takes nothing seriously).

Sincerely,
The Forest Homeowners’ Association 🌲✨

P.S.: The next meeting will be scheduled once someone finds the warlock and Jules, who rudely left without signing the minutes.

Chapter Text

The first light of day filtered through the treetops, painting the ground with gold. Dew still clung to the grass, mixing with the scars of the previous night’s battle. The air carried a sharp scent of blood and smoke, blended with the dampness of churned earth.

Elara walked slowly through the clearing, each step measured to avoid stumbling over broken branches and the remains of magical traps. Her hand pressed against the cut on her arm, the fabric already soaked through, but she seemed not to notice. Her eyes searched the scene, as if every detail could be a clue.

Damon appeared to her right, his face streaked with soot, his gaze dark.
“Two wolves fled south,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Stefan and Caroline are after them.”

“And Jules?” Elara asked sharply, turning to him.

Damon gave a bitter half-smile. “Slipperier than soap in the rain.”

Bonnie arrived moments later, exhausted, her fingers still faintly stained with magical soot. She scanned the clearing and exhaled deeply.
“The fabric of the barrier is still unstable. Last night’s attack stirred more than just the perimeter…” she murmured, exchanging a tense look with Elara.

The silence broke with the sound of dragging footsteps. Tyler leaned against a tree, approaching with difficulty. The dark hollows beneath his eyes betrayed how brutal the transformation had been the night before. He looked at Elara, his voice hoarse.
“Their scent’s still here… everywhere.”

The group began to move, following near-invisible traces: claw marks on tree bark, dry blood stains in the grass, deep tracks pressed into the mud. The rising sun brought no relief, only revealed more of the horrors left behind.

Caroline returned first, her hair disheveled, her blouse torn. She threw a bloodstained chain onto the ground.
“We caught one. He didn’t talk… and he never will.”

Damon’s eyes shifted toward the horizon, where the tree line seemed to waver in the heat.
“This isn’t over. Not even close.”

Elara closed her eyes briefly, feeling the weight of magic still clinging to the air like a lingering echo. The forest itself seemed to breathe with them, charged with the tension of something about to break.

“Tonight,” she said firmly, “we hunt. Before they get the chance.”

And as the sunlight spread, the Scooby Gang pushed deeper into the woods—like shadows refusing to retreat.

The sun was already higher when the hunt paused. The group returned to the old safehouse near the road, hidden among ancient trees, its wooden walls weathered, smelling faintly of dust. The air still carried tension, but for a few minutes, silence and wounds took priority over war.

Elara climbed the stairs slowly, burdened not just by her injuries but by the responsibility pressing on her shoulders. She found Tyler sitting in the corner of a room, his bare torso covered with deep gashes—some still raw, others already stitching themselves closed with supernatural healing. The afternoon light filtered through the window, outlining his tired face.

He looked up when she entered.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice rough. “You need to rest.”

Elara let out a humorless laugh as she stepped closer.
“Look who’s talking.”

She knelt beside him, opening a small vial of magical ointment Bonnie had prepared. The scent of herbs and camphor filled the air. Tyler closed his eyes when she touched the balm to his wounds, her fingers gentle, the faint warmth of a spell woven into her care.

“I can’t stop thinking,” he murmured, still with eyes closed, “that last night… it could have been me. I could have—”

“You didn’t,” Elara cut him off, her tone firm but softening immediately after. “You held on. That matters.”

He opened his eyes, meeting hers with a mix of vulnerability and bruised pride.
“You don’t understand… every time it gets harder. It’s like part of me wants to give in.”

Elara paused, her hand resting over his chest.
“I understand more than you think,” she whispered. “I carry something inside me too—something that could destroy me if I let it.”

For a moment, silence settled. Outside, only the rustle of wind through the leaves and the call of a lone crow broke the stillness.

Tyler spoke again.
“And if I can’t hold on? If one day I hurt you?”

“Then…” Elara hesitated but didn’t look away. “Then I’ll be there to stop you. But I’ll also be here, now, to remind you that you’re not alone.”

He took a deep breath, his shoulders easing slightly. When she resumed applying the ointment, her fingers trembled faintly—not from fear, but from nearness.

“You know this is a terrible idea, right?” he said, half serious, half teasing.

“I know.” A faint smile curved her lips. “But it’s a terrible idea worth having.”

Tyler’s gaze lingered on her, as if trying to carve the moment into memory before the next storm arrived.

Downstairs, hurried footsteps and voices broke the quiet. Damon shouted something about “movement in the woods,” and Caroline was already tugging on her combat jacket.

Elara rose, grabbing her pouch of herbs and charms.
“Time to go back to war.”

Tyler tried to stand, but she stopped him with a gesture.
“Stay. If you go in now, you won’t have strength for tomorrow night.”

He only nodded, watching her leave. When the door shut behind her, he kept staring at the spot she had occupied, feeling her absence like a silent promise: the war was far from over… and neither was what was growing between them.

Author’s Note: Elevator Notice – Forest Shadows Condominium Administration

Dear residents,

Please be advised:

The communal areas of the clearing are temporarily closed due to excessive blood, broken branches, and unauthorized explosive spells. 🧹✨

We kindly remind werewolves not to use the woods as a makeshift gym during transformations. The sound of bones snapping is disturbing the neighbors’ sleep. 🐺

We also remind you that intimate encounters (👀) in the safehouse bedrooms are not forbidden, but please be discreet—the wooden walls are thin, and Damon is already making sarcastic remarks in the hallways.

In case of further attacks, please report directly to the manager, Bonnie Bennett. Complaints about Damon may be left in the suggestion box (which is already full, by the way).

Sincerely,
The Administration of the Supernatural War Condominium 🌲

P.S.: The next residents’ meeting will be scheduled as soon as Jules and the warlock stop running long enough to sign the attendance sheet.

Chapter Text

The stairs creaked under Elara’s feet as she descended into the main room. The air was heavier than before, as if the very walls had absorbed the tension. The sharp scent of strong coffee mixed with dried blood and the leather of worn jackets, while the faces around the oval table bore clear marks of exhaustion—poorly healed cuts, dark circles, taut muscles.

Alaric stood leaning against the table, flipping through an old topographic map of Mystic Falls. His open holster revealed the metallic gleam of a pistol loaded with vervain bullets. A freshly cleaned machete lay within reach as he sketched quick lines with a worn pencil.

“The northern clearing still has fresh tracks,” he said without looking up. “Heavy footprints—probably two or three wolves—and drag marks. Someone injured was carried.”

Damon lounged in his chair with his usual relaxed posture—one that fooled no one—spinning a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“That’s great. We follow the blood trail and say hello to our furry friends.”

Caroline crossed her arms and shot him a sharp look.
“It’s not just following. They’re leaving a trail on purpose. They want to draw us in.”

“Bingo, Vampire Barbie.” Damon smirked, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed he knew the risk too. “The difference is, we’re bringing the invitation back—with a gift.”

Bonnie, seated beside Elara, spread small fabric pouches across the table.
“Wards against tracking spells, plus charms to mask our presence. If they’ve got a witch helping, it won’t be easy for them to locate us.”

Elara added, her voice steady but tinged with unease:
“I’ll reinforce the barrier on the side trails. If they try to circle around, they’ll hit resistance. But…” She drew in a breath. “This morning I felt something different. A magical pulse, like someone probing our movements. And it wasn’t a werewolf.”

Alaric finally looked up, serious.
“That means we’ve got little time before we lose the advantage.”

Silence fell, broken only by the scratch of Alaric’s pencil as he drew a circle on the map.
“The clearing,” he concluded. “We’re not going in through here, like they expect. Damon, you, Stefan, and Caroline will take the west flank. Elara and Bonnie, you’ll set up the containment circle. I’ll go east, track the scout.”

“Going solo, Ric?” Damon arched an eyebrow.

“I was hunting vampires before you figured out how to bite. I can handle it.” The reply came sharp, but certain.

Moments later, the group split. The sky was painted with streaks of gold and orange, the forest air turning cold. Each step on the damp undergrowth seemed louder than it should have been.

Elara and Bonnie knelt in a smaller clearing, far from the main rendezvous point. Thin candles flickered, casting unsteady light on symbols drawn in salt and ash. Elara whispered words in an ancient tongue, her voice low and rhythmic, while Bonnie held her hands suspended above the circle, channeling energy that hummed in the air like invisible heat.

In the distance, a sharp cry rang out—human, but soaked in pain—followed by snapping branches and the rush of something running fast. Damon’s voice crackled over the radio:
“We’ve got movement on the west flank. Repeat: movement on the west.”

Before they could react, Elara felt it. Not sight, not sound—pressure, a force striking inside her body. The barrier they had raised wasn’t touched—it was thrown against them. The earth trembled faintly beneath her hands.

“Bonnie…” Elara whispered, heart racing. “They’re here sooner than we thought.”

From the west, a deep growl rolled through the trees, followed by the crash of breaking branches. Caroline and Stefan were already engaged, the metallic clash of stakes meeting claws echoing through the woods.

Alaric’s voice came over the radio, broken by static:
“Got the scout. But—damn it, there are two more on me!”

The magical pulse grew heavier, as if raw energy itself was forcing its way through the containment circle. Elara squeezed her eyes shut, channeling power as Bonnie shouted for her to hold. The candles shook, their flames on the verge of snuffing out.

Author’s Note – “Condominium Announcement”

Dear residents,

Please be informed that last night’s assembly was somewhat turbulent. Excessive noise occurred in the common area (screams, growls, and magical explosions) during quiet hours, which may have disturbed some neighbors. We apologize for the inconvenience.

We also note that Ms. Elara and Ms. Bonnie were seen reinforcing wards in the shared garden. Please remember that the use of salt, ash, and candles is permitted, provided it does not block access for other residents.

Mr. Damon has received a verbal warning for consuming alcohol in the meeting hall. Mr. Alaric will be formally notified for “independent hunting without backup,” a practice not recommended under the community guidelines.

We kindly ask all residents to keep wolves outside the condominium perimeter to prevent future incidents involving blood, drag marks, and damage to vegetation.

Sincerely,
The Administration.

Chapter Text

The magical pressure grew heavier, each second more suffocating. The air in the clearing vibrated, charged like it was brimming with electricity. Elara felt the muscles in her neck lock, cold sweat running down her temple, but she kept her hands steady on the salt and ash of the circle.

“They’re breaking through!” Bonnie shouted, her voice hoarse with effort. “Thirty more seconds, Elara! Hold it!”

The sound of rushing footsteps cut the air. From the dense forest, figures emerged—men and women with golden glowing eyes, predatory movements and heavy breaths. They weren’t transformed, but their speed and aggression were as lethal as any claw.

From the west flank came the snap of a branch and a muffled cry: Damon appeared, coat whipping behind him, grappling with one attacker’s arm until a loud crack echoed.
“Nice try, pal, but the handshake’s over!” he quipped before driving the stake into the man’s chest.

Caroline followed close behind, delivering a kick that slammed another wolf into a tree.
“Damon, less jokes, more killing!” she snapped, panting.

Further ahead, Stefan moved with swift precision, dodging blows and countering with controlled brutality. His eyes measured every move, the gaze of a true hunter.

To the east, a gunshot cracked. Between two trees, Alaric reloaded his special pistol with practiced ease.
“One down. The other’s coming from behind!” he growled into the radio.

Bonnie nearly lost her balance when a blast of magic slammed against the circle.
“Damn it, they’ve got a witch with them!” she bit her lip, reinforcing the spell, but a thin line of blood trickled from her nose.

Elara, feeling the circle collapse, closed her eyes and pulled strength from deep within—images of Tyler wounded, the weight of recent losses. The ground trembled, and the circle flared as if it were aflame.

Then a voice cut through the chaos, deep and commanding:
“Step away from her.”

From the forest shadows, Elijah emerged. His immaculate suit clashed with the wild setting, but his gaze was a blade. In a second, he crossed the clearing and seized the nearest attacker by the throat, lifting him as though he weighed nothing. With a swift motion, he hurled the man into two others, toppling them like dominoes.

“Elijah?!” Caroline’s eyes widened, though she didn’t falter, staking another enemy.

He didn’t answer, only placed himself beside Elara and Bonnie, blocking two wolves that tried to breach the barrier. The impact of their bodies against him was like striking stone.

Damon, blood at the corner of his mouth, shouted:
“Great! Does the suit come with combat mode included?”

“Only when necessary,” Elijah replied, sidestepping a blow and breaking his opponent’s arm in two precise movements.

But something was wrong. The containment circle, already unstable, began to pulse with light, the salt scattering outward as if shoved by an unseen hand. Elara’s eyes flew open in alarm.
“I can’t hold it! It’s going to blow!”

“Everyone, out of the clearing! NOW!” Bonnie screamed.

Alaric dropped the last enemy with a shot and sprinted to the center. Stefan pulled Caroline back by the arm. Damon and Elijah held the rear while Elara and Bonnie released the gathered energy.

A blinding flash consumed everything, followed by a shockwave that swept through the forest, throwing enemies and allies alike to the ground. The sound was deafening—and then, only silence and the acrid scent of scorched earth remained.

When the dust settled, the clearing was littered with unconscious bodies, but the danger was far from over. At the forest’s edge, shadows lingered. Among them, a man with cold eyes, untouched by the magical blast, gave a faint smile before vanishing.

Elara, gasping for breath, met Elijah’s gaze.
“This… isn’t over.”

He nodded gravely.
“No. This was only the first act.”

The silence after the explosion felt unreal. The forest, alive only moments ago with cries, growls, and snapping wood, was now still, suffocated by the acrid stench of ozone and burnt earth. A fine haze of dust floated in the air, making the twilight seem colder.

Elara staggered, bracing her weight on her knees. Her hands still trembled from holding the circle. Each heartbeat thudded in her ears like a drum. At her side, Bonnie wiped the blood from her nose with the back of her hand, eyes fixed on the ground as if to gather strength without showing weakness.

“Everyone still alive?” Damon’s voice was hoarse, yet still dripping with irony. His eyebrow bore a deep gash already knitting shut, though his shirt was torn and smeared with blood—some his, some not.

Caroline helped Stefan lift one of their fallen allies, scanning the clearing with sharp eyes.
“Most are unconscious… but nothing fatal. Not yet.” Her tone carried more bitterness than relief.

Alaric cleaned his pistol with a rag, each motion slow and deliberate, his clenched jaw betraying the strain.
“They pulled back too fast. This wasn’t just an ambush. It was a test.” He looked at Elijah, who stood immaculate as ever, untouched by battle, though his expression said he understood far more than he revealed.

Elijah stepped closer to Elara.
“The energy you felt before the attack,” he said, calm but firm. “It wasn’t werewolf. And it wasn’t from an ordinary witch. It was refined. Calculated. Whoever is behind this knew exactly where to strike.”

Elara lifted her gaze, still gasping.
“And knew we’d be here.”

Bonnie sighed, brushing hair from her face.
“They had a strong magical tracker. That’s not something you buy. That’s something you inherit.”

Damon shot her a sidelong glance.
“So we’re dealing with family? Perfect. Nothing spices up a war like family drama.” He took a swig of whiskey from a flask no one had seen him pull out.

Caroline wiped her hands with a cloth, approaching.
“And that man…” she looked at Elijah, “the one who stood at the tree line before disappearing.”

“A leader. Or a messenger,” Elijah answered. “The kind who watches, then strikes at the exact moment.”

Alaric holstered his gun and ran a hand over his face.
“The problem is, now they know exactly how we fight. Next time won’t be this… ‘clean.’”

Stefan, silent until then, lifted his gaze, expression grave.
“Then we can’t wait for next time. We have to go after them before they come after us again.”

A gust of wind swept through the clearing, carrying the distant echo of a long, mournful howl. Not a threat—an announcement.

Elara shivered.
“They want us to know they’re still here.”

Elijah nodded faintly, almost to himself.
“And this is only the beginning.”

As they gathered the wounded and dismantled the remnants of the magical circle, the sky sank into the deep blue of night. Yet the sensation lingered—of being watched, of unseen eyes weighing on them all.

Post-Credit Scene — Elara’s Diary

Dear diary,

I don’t even know where to begin. Today was… heavy. My skin still tingles when I remember the barrier nearly shattering, the energy crushing us, the blood running from Bonnie’s nose. I thought I wouldn’t hold. I thought we were all going to fall in that clearing. Once again, we survived by a thread.

And in the middle of it all, Elijah showed up. Always immaculate, always with that infuriating calm. I don’t know if I feel protected or tested when he’s around. Like: ‘look how he makes it all look effortless while I’m about to collapse.’ But fine, I’ll admit it: having him on our side was… comforting. Even if he’ll never admit he cares. His suit insists he doesn’t.

Damon, of course, never shut up. I think that’s his way of not losing it. Or maybe he just loves the sound of his own voice. Caroline was incredible, as always—sometimes I forget how strong she is until I see her kicking a wolf twice her size. Stefan was Stefan: centered, silent, probably already drafting a mental report for the “How to Be the Responsible Brother” handbook.

And me? I just wanted… to breathe. One night without magic exploding in my face. One night where I could just be a normal girl writing about silly crushes and school tests. But no. I have to write about magical pulses, near-death, and warning howls echoing through the woods.

But if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll fall apart. Maybe that’s why I write like this—balancing fear and humor. Because if I look straight at everything we’ve lost, everything we could still lose… I don’t know if I’ll make it.

Anyway, that’s it. The forest still feels like it’s watching me from the window. And I still don’t know who that man was—the one who smiled before disappearing. But one thing I do know: this isn’t over. Not even close.

Good night, diary. If it can be a good night.

— Elara

Chapter Text

The way back felt longer than the way in. The improvised torches lit thin trails of smoke still rising from the trees struck by the spell, and the crunch of dry leaves underfoot was almost deafening in the post-battle silence. No one spoke much; each was trapped in their own reflections, replaying the moments where the fight could have gone wrong.

Elara walked a little behind, her hand resting on Tyler’s shoulder as he limped slightly. The physical closeness was almost instinctive—no words, just their heavy breaths, the warmth of their hands, and the steady rhythm of their steps.

Ahead, Damon carried an almost empty bottle and whistled softly, but his gaze swept the forest constantly, sharp for any shadow that didn’t belong to the group. Caroline walked beside Bonnie, who was still pale, her face tense, her eyes lost in something only she could see.

“That wasn’t brute force,” Bonnie finally broke the silence, speaking low to Caroline, though her voice carried enough for those nearby to hear. “It was a conjunction spell. Whoever cast it… had access to grimoires that shouldn’t even exist anymore.”

Elijah, walking just behind them, raised an eyebrow with interest.
“Of ancient lineage?”

Bonnie nodded slowly.
“And not just any lineage. I recognized the pattern of the enchantment. It was… Mikaelson.” She looked at Elijah, who kept his expression impeccable, though a subtle narrowing of his eyes betrayed that this wasn’t news to him.

Alaric, leading the group with his stake blade already holstered, stopped for a moment and glanced over his shoulder.
“If there’s a witch with access to Mikaelson magic working with wolves… that’s no coincidence.”

Damon muttered,
“Great. Another ‘long-lost relative’ for the party? I’ll bet my whiskey it’s gonna end with some kind of family drama.”

They finally reached the old safe house, set far from town. The wooden walls creaked with the night wind, and the smell of burnt herbs still clung from the last time Bonnie had used the place for a ritual. As soon as they entered, Caroline and Stefan carried the wounded to an improvised room, while Bonnie began tracing a new protective circle, reinforcing the boundaries.

Elara and Tyler sat on a worn-out couch, silence heavy between them. Tyler rubbed his aching leg, though what truly troubled him was the worried look he kept casting at her.
“You put yourself right in the middle of that spell, Elara. If it had gone wrong…” his voice trailed off at the end.

She didn’t look away.
“If it had gone wrong, we’d all be dead. All of us.” A pause. “I did what had to be done.”

Elijah stepped into the room, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
“We need to decide quickly. We can’t simply wait for the next attack.” His eyes locked on Bonnie. “That witch you sensed… can you track him?”

Bonnie drew a deep breath, frowning.
“I can try. But he’s shielding himself. If it’s who I think it is, it won’t be easy… or safe.”

Alaric approached, setting a map on the table.
“I found footprints and claw marks at the northern edge of the clearing. If we follow the trail, we might still catch them before they disappear completely.”

Damon twirled the bottle in his hand with a crooked smile.
“So that’s it? We’re gonna hunt the hunter? I like the irony.”

Tyler raised his eyes to Elara, his expression hardening.
“If they’ve got a witch of that level, they didn’t come alone. This is just the tip of the iceberg.”

Elara shivered, recalling the distant howl that had echoed through the clearing.
“Then we sink the iceberg… before it sinks us.”

The wind pressed against the windows, and for a moment the sound was eerily like that same mournful howl from the woods. No one spoke, but all of them felt the same truth: the night wasn’t over yet.

Author’s Note:

Look… if this chapter were a neighborhood association meeting, it’d be the kind where everyone swears “no drama this time” and ends up throwing shade, digging up family skeletons, and someone always has a bottle in hand (Damon, obviously).

Highlights:
– Bonnie casually dropping the bomb: “Oh yeah, recognized forbidden Mikaelson grimoire magic, no big deal 🙃.” Everyone else: 😐
– Elijah pulling the classic “I’m not surprised, but I’ll pretend to be for suspense.”
– Tyler trying the worried-boyfriend role and Elara shutting it down with the iconic “relax, either we all died or no one did, simple.” Peak detachment queen.
– Damon officially elected president of the “inappropriate joke at the worst time” club.

Moral of the chapter: if wolves + witches + Mikaelsons are involved, forget peace, forget vacations, and definitely forget that the night is over. 😅

Chapter Text

The night wind seeped through the cracks of the old safe house, making the candle flames flicker over the table where the map was spread. Shadows danced along the walls, casting distorted figures as everyone gathered for what would be more than just a pursuit—it would be a descent into enemy territory.

Elijah stood, coat immaculate, cold gaze fixed on the map.
“We’ll take the northern route,” his voice was firm, yet low, as though every word had been measured. “Gideon will likely move quickly, but he won’t abandon the wolves. And they… always leave tracks.”

Bonnie, seated with a grimoire open, ran her fingers across ancient symbols, murmuring an almost inaudible incantation. She pressed a silver pendant into Caroline’s hand.
“This will repel most of his illusions… but not all of them. He’s different from the witches we’ve faced before.” She drew a deep breath, locking eyes with Elijah. “This magic is old, Elijah. Older than you.”

Damon leaned against the doorframe, twirling a stake between his fingers, smirking.
“Oh, perfect. We’re going after an ancient necro-witch, possibly psychotic, with a pack of wolves as bodyguards. Sounds like the perfect way to spend the night.”

“At least you won’t get bored,” Caroline shot back, checking the bag filled with vervain vials and first aid kits.

Tyler, jacket zipped and his special firearm strapped at his side, glanced at Elara with concern.
“He won’t play fair. Gideon doesn’t need to get close to kill you.”

Elara’s gaze didn’t waver.
“And I don’t need him close to take him down.” Her words came with a calm that only sharpened the tension beneath.

Alaric laid his long stake blade on the map, pointing to a penciled mark.
“This is where we found the tracks. From here on, it’s dense forest. Gideon will try to separate us—”

“Then we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Elijah finished, closing the map.

Through the Woods

The night seemed darker than it should. Lanterns and torches revealed only small circles of light, the rest swallowed by shadow. The forest’s sounds were alive: leaves rustling, branches snapping under unseen weight, and the constant whisper of the wind.

Damon led the way, sharp-eyed but never without sarcasm.
“You know what’s funny?” he murmured. “These things always start with ‘let’s follow the trail’ and end with ‘run for your life.’”

Bonnie walked close behind, pausing now and then to sense the flow of magic in the air. Her eyes narrowed.
“He’s here.” She touched the trunk of a tree where a strange symbol was carved, still pulsing with a faint green glow. “This is a conjuration mark. It’s meant to track… or trap.”

Elijah stepped closer, studying the symbol as if deciphering each line.
“It’s not just conjuration. It’s a signature. He wants us to know he was here.”

The group pressed on, senses sharper than ever. The cold deepened, and a mist began to rise from the ground, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

The Trap

The sound came first: a faint metallic chime, almost muffled. Damon raised his hand, halting everyone.
“Either you heard that too, or I drank more than I thought.”

Bonnie looked down—and before she could warn them, a beam of violet light tore through the darkness, activating a circle of runes beneath their feet. The energy shot upward like an invisible wall, throwing them back.

“Confinement curse!” Bonnie shouted, already trying to counter-spell.

From the shadows, a voice echoed, deep and drawn-out, with an accent that felt centuries old:
“You move quickly… but I know every step of this forest.”

A figure emerged ahead, cloaked in darkness, face partly hidden. Gideon’s eyes glowed a near-golden hue beneath the moonlight.

Elijah stepped forward, posture impeccable.
“Gideon. I should have known you wouldn’t stay hidden for long.”

The witch smiled almost politely.
“I don’t hide, Elijah. I simply choose when to be seen.”

Caroline, gripping a stake tightly, whispered to Damon:
“This won’t end well.”

Damon tilted his head, eyes never leaving Gideon.
“Well, at least he’s dramatic.”

Gideon raised a hand, and with a subtle gesture, the mist thickened, shaping itself—wolves emerged from the shadows, their yellow eyes locked on the group, circling them slowly.

Elara’s heart pounded, but she didn’t back down.
“If you think you’re going to hunt us…” she raised her voice, locking her gaze on the witch. “You’re wrong.”

Gideon’s smile widened, cold and calculated.
“No, my dear.” He tilted his head slightly. “I didn’t come to hunt… I came to choose who lives until dawn.”

Silence fell like a blade, and the tension cracked in the air.

Author’s Note:

Okay… let’s be real: this chapter was basically a nighttime stroll in the woods that could’ve been a simple scout hike, but ended up a pagan ritual with guest appearances from wolves and a thousand-year-old goth warlock.

Highlights of the episode:
– Elijah, as always, showing up with that “I’m in charge here” posture and treating the map like it’s a property contract.
– Bonnie, 100% exhausted but still having to play the group’s Alexa: “magic detected, watch the trap, rerouting path.”
– Damon, expert at killing the mood with snarky commentary—but honestly, without him, the tension would give everyone ulcers.
– Gideon, our new villain: enters with smoke, dramatic one-liners, glowing-eye close-ups. Clearly passed the Mikaelson masterclass on dramatic entrances.

Moral of the story: if the forest suddenly fills with mist out of nowhere, just leave, my friend. It’s always a witch prepping a trap. Always.

P.S.: Someone please write a “Supernatural Scout’s Handbook” for this group, because so far they’ve only collected trauma and broken stakes.

Chapter Text

The smell of damp earth and blood hung heavy in the air. The moon, just a pale arc in the sky, lacked the strength to trigger the wolves’ natural transformation. But they were there—already transformed, yellow eyes burning with fury, deep growls reverberating through the trees.

“This isn’t possible…” Caroline whispered, stepping back. “The full moon was days ago.”

Bonnie, her gaze fixed on the creatures, clenched her fist.
“This is forced magic. A lunar rupture conjuration… a forbidden spell.”

A sharp crack echoed in the forest, and from the shadows, Gideon emerged. The dark cloak he wore seemed to swallow the scarce light. His voice carried the irritating calm of someone who knew they were in control.
“Very good, little witch. Recognizing the spell is a start… but far too late to undo it.”

Two wolves lunged from the side. Damon spun the stake in his hand and shot Stefan a quick glance.
“Showtime.”

The clash was instant. Damon and Stefan threw themselves at the first two wolves, bodies colliding with the ground in brutal force. The snapping of bones, claws tearing through fabric, the air filled with snarls and cries. Elijah moved with surgical precision, dodging bites and striking with the silver blade he carried.

Elara stayed on the move, cutting off three wolves attempting to circle Caroline. She felt the slash of claws rip through her jacket, the warmth of blood spreading across her side, but she didn’t stop. A precise strike to the base of the skull dropped the wolf.

Gideon, standing just meters away, watched her with a different kind of interest. Not merely the instinct of an enemy, but the calculating stare of a scholar studying something rare.
“Curious…” he murmured. “There’s something in your flow… as if you don’t belong to this time.”

Elara froze for a second, heart hammering.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was steady, but his gaze seemed to pierce straight into her soul.

Gideon’s smile deepened slightly.
“Temporal residue. Marks left by existences misaligned with the present. Rare… dangerously rare.” He tilted his head. “And… valuable.”

A louder howl shattered the tension, and two more wolves emerged from the shadows, lunging toward Bonnie. Tyler hurled himself at one, snarling and forcing the beast to the ground, fighting with sheer strength.

“Damon!” Stefan shouted, tossing the stake to his brother, who drove it into the chest of the second wolf before it reached Bonnie.

The confinement circle Gideon had conjured glowed faintly on the ground, runes flickering under the strain of the battle. Bonnie, breathless, dropped to her knees beside it.
“If I break the wrong rune, we’ll all explode.”

“Then don’t miss,” Elijah said, splitting another wolf cleanly with one precise strike.

Realizing the tide was turning, Gideon raised his hands. A wave of dark energy blasted across the clearing, throwing Stefan and Caroline backward. The wolves fell back, forming a protective semicircle around him.

“I’ll come back for you, little anomaly…” he told Elara, his gaze chilling her to the core. “And when I do, there will be no hiding what you are.”

With a snap of his fingers, darkness swallowed Gideon and the pack, leaving only the acrid stench of burnt magic behind.

Damon staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth.
“Well… that was fun. Now, who’s going to explain to me what the hell that was?”

Elara looked away, drawing a long breath.
“Just an enemy who talks too much.”

But inside, she knew: if Gideon already sensed the “temporal residue,” the countdown to the truth had begun.

Post-Credit Scene — Elara’s Diary

Dear diary,

I swear I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or file a lawsuit against the author of this story. Because seriously—someone explain to me: why the hell am I, a simple creature who only wanted to be a background character, in the middle of wolves conjured outside the full moon, an ancient dark-lord-style Mikaelson warlock, Elijah in a combat-ready suit, and Damon acting like a stand-up comedian?

This wasn’t supposed to be like this. I just wanted to be a side extra. Maybe open the door at Mystic Grill, serve a drink, give a couple of background smiles and done. But no. Ms. Author™ decided I’d be the ‘rare, valuable, mysterious temporal anomaly.’ You know what that means? That now there’s a thousand-year-old gothic villain literally saying he’ll come back just to kidnap me, probably run magical experiments, and turn me into the season’s plot twist.
This isn’t life, diary. This is creative exploitation.

And another thing: temporal residue? I didn’t ask for this! I wanted to be the funny friend who disappears in episode 3, not the ticking time bomb of the plot. I didn’t ask for protagonism, I didn’t ask for a gossiping warlock detecting my magical flow, I didn’t ask for Elijah looking at me like I’m some gourmet puzzle. I asked for peace. I asked to be irrelevant. And what do I get? Trauma, blood on my new jacket, and Damon whining in my ear.

Chapter recap:
— Almost became wolf chow.
— Discovered I have an invisible magical tag that basically says ‘rare item, steal me.’
— Earned another therapy bill I’ll never pay.

Author, if you’re reading this: next time, just make me the distant neighbor. The one who shows up only to say ‘you’re making too much noise’ and then disappears forever. I’ll take that role. I’ll beg for that role.

With much anger and zero desired protagonism,
— Elara.

Chapter Text

The road was deserted, save for the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Damon killed the engine a few yards before the spot Bonnie had marked. The silence that followed was oppressive.

“We’re here,” Bonnie said, eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. “It’s close. I can still feel the residue—it’s too strong to have faded.”

The group advanced on foot through the woods, lanterns casting narrow beams of light across twisted trees. With each step, the metallic scent of blood mingled with something else—sweet, rotting, cloying.

The clearing looked like a nightmare made real: symbols carved into the ground in concentric circles, black stones etched with ancient runes, and in the center, scorched spiral marks burned into the earth.

“Lupine subjugation magic… mixed with necromancy,” Elijah murmured, scanning the area. “A combination even Esther considered dangerous.”

Bonnie knelt beside one of the markings, fingers hovering above it.
“This isn’t just a summoning circle. It’s a trigger. If we cross—”

A sharp crack echoed, like wood splitting, and three figures leapt from the shadows, mid-transformation. Bones snapped, skin tore, fur erupted. It wasn’t the full moon, but Gideon had forced the metamorphosis.

“Oh, perfect,” Damon muttered, drawing his stake. “Mutant wolves à la carte.”

The first wolf lunged at Caroline. She twisted just in time, driving her stake into the beast’s shoulder. It snarled, thrashing to break free, but Caroline wrenched the weapon and pushed deeper, ripping a howl from its throat.

Stefan moved fast, seizing the second wolf by the nape and slamming it into a tree with brutal force. Leaves rained down around them.

“They’re stronger than normal!” Caroline shouted, dodging a bite.

“It’s the magic!” Bonnie called, raising her hands to cast. “He’s amplified their rage and dulled their minds. They won’t stop until we’re dead!”

The third wolf charged Elara, yellow eyes locked on her like a personal target. She backed up, drawing the dagger Elijah had given her.
“Stay away from me!” she muttered, voice tighter than she wanted.

The wolf lunged. Elara spun and drove the blade into its neck. It staggered but didn’t fall. The impact knocked her flat, air crushed from her lungs.

Then a burst of golden light ripped across the clearing. Elijah blurred into motion, seizing the wolf by its jaw and nape. With one brutal twist, he snapped its neck. The body dropped limp, slowly reverting to human form.

“Get up,” Elijah said, extending a hand to her. “Don’t let him sense your fear.”

Heavy footsteps echoed through the trees, followed by a low, rolling laugh.

“Impressive… but not enough.”

Gideon stepped from the shadows, wrapped in a dark cloak. His eyes glowed with an unnatural hue, a black aura rippling around him.

“You’re late,” he said, voice laced with mockery. “I’ve already taken what I needed.”

“You’re manipulating wolves with forbidden magic,” Bonnie shot back, narrowing her eyes. “It’s going to destroy you.”

“Oh, little witch…” His smile widened. “Destruction was always part of my plan.”

Before anyone could move, Gideon raised his hands. The runes ignited in blue flames, the ground trembling as chains of energy snaked upward, locking around Damon’s and Caroline’s ankles. Stefan lunged forward but was hurled back as if struck by an invisible fist.

Elara’s heart pounded when Gideon’s gaze found hers, cutting straight through flesh and bone.
“And you… you remain my greatest mystery.”

She swallowed hard, gripping the dagger tighter, praying no one here would ask the question that could seal her fate.

Author’s Note

So the group decides to hunt Gideon before he hunts them, and naturally they trip (literally) into a clearing full of forbidden symbols and edgy wolves. While Bonnie scrambles through her Advanced Latin Spells course, Damon brings the sarcasm, Caroline body-slams yet another wolf, and Elijah proves that even breaking werewolf necks he still looks like a magazine model.

Meanwhile, Elara is still trying to convince everyone (and herself) that she’s just an unlucky extra—but Gideon insists on treating her like a cosmic limited-edition enigma.

Not-so-spoiler alert: nobody’s sleeping peacefully tonight. Least of all the fandom.

Chapter Text

Elara felt her stomach twist. His energy cut through her, as though examining every fragment of her soul.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady.

Gideon’s smile was almost pitying.
“Oh, but your energy… it’s ancient. Out of time.”

Before anyone could react, he raised his hands and muttered a sharp incantation. The ground beneath Damon, Stefan, Caroline, and Tyler lit up with burning runes—and in an instant, they vanished, swallowed by a golden flash.

“Damn it!” Damon shouted, right before disappearing.

Core 2 — The Illusory Labyrinth

Damon, Stefan, Caroline, and Tyler reappeared in a warped forest. The sky was blood-red, and the trees moved as if alive.

“Where the hell are we?” Caroline spun, trying to find an exit.

“Containment magic,” Stefan said grimly. “He separated us to weaken the group.”

Tyler already caught the scent.
“We’re not alone,” he growled, just as three wolves with glowing golden eyes leapt through the fog.

Damon twirled his stake.
“Great. Let’s play.”

The fight was brutal. The space itself seemed to close around them, every tree shifting to block their escape. Caroline used vampiric speed to distract one wolf; Stefan grabbed its throat and hurled it into another. Tyler, half-transformed, slammed one to the ground. Damon, with precise lethality, drove his stake straight through another’s chest.

But the labyrinth shifted. Every time they thought they’d found a way out, the path twisted.

Core 1 — Confrontation in the Clearing

Elijah advanced, his blade gleaming under the distorted light.
“Gideon, end this. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, Elijah…” Gideon’s voice was almost amused. “I served Esther Mikaelson. I know exactly what I’m dealing with.”

He snapped his fingers—and five wolves materialized from the circle, already transformed despite the absent moon, their bodies trembling with magic that twisted their faces.

Alaric fired two rounds of vervain bullets. Bonnie raised her hands, chanting a counter-spell, face taut with focus. Elara darted toward a wolf, dodging a swipe and slashing with the enchanted dagger Elijah had given her.

The sounds of breaking bones, snarls, and spells clashed in the clearing. Gideon controlled the wolves like puppets, yet his gaze never left Elara.

“Your presence here tears at the fabric of time…” he muttered, blocking Elijah’s strike with a surge of black energy.

Sweating, Elara forced a sarcastic smile to mask her panic.
“Sorry to disappoint, but my life’s complicated enough without time physics in the mix.”

Gideon only smiled wider—and the circle’s glow flared brighter.

Core 2 — The Illusory Labyrinth

The air was heavy, every breath scraping their lungs. Damon wiped blood from a cut on his forehead, scanning their prison.
“Seriously? Haunted forest and murder-wolves? This guy really needs a hobby.”

“These markings…” Stefan crouched, studying the ground. “They’re changing. The labyrinth reconfigures itself every minute.”

“Perfect,” Caroline shot back, irritated. “So basically we’re running in circles until we’re dinner.”

“They’re coming again,” Tyler growled, eyes glowing yellow. “And faster.”

Branches cracked in every direction. Three more wolves burst through. Caroline sped aside, jamming a stake into one’s shoulder. Stefan snapped another’s neck—yet it rose instantly, body trembling with Gideon’s magic.

“They won’t stop,” Stefan said grimly.

“Then neither do we,” Damon replied with a half-smile.

He ripped a thick branch from a tree, sharpened on one end, and rammed it through a wolf’s chest with enough force to split the ground. Tyler, now fully transformed, leapt onto another, tearing it apart.

But the trees moved closer, enclosing them. It was like being trapped inside a living creature.

Core 1 — The Clearing

The circle pulsed like a living heart. Gideon shifted in perfect rhythm with Elijah’s attacks, evading the blade with supernatural precision.

Bonnie, grimoires in hand, shouted at Elara:
“I need more time! Hold them off!”

Elara spun her dagger, blocking a wolf’s jaws. She ducked, slid across the ground, and slashed its leg, bringing it down. Alaric finished it with a stake to the chest.

“You’ve got guts, kid,” Alaric said, panting.

Gideon raised his hand and unleashed a blast of black energy that slammed Elara against a tree. She gasped, struggling to stand as Gideon slowly approached.

“You know what you are, even as you pretend otherwise,” he said, his eyes fixed on hers. “And I can free you… or destroy you.”

Elijah blurred into view, blade raised.
“You will not touch her.”

Core 2 — Breaking the Labyrinth

Damon kicked a wolf aside and shouted:
“I’m done with this werewolf edition of Maze Runner!”

Caroline appeared at his side, breathless.
“There’s a concentration of magic to the east. I’d bet it’s the heart of this prison.”

“Perfect.” Damon glanced at Stefan. “Time for a shortcut.”

Stefan nodded. Together, with combined vampiric strength, they toppled three trees, clearing a path. Tyler led the way, guided by his senses. They burst into a smaller clearing where a black obelisk smoked with golden fumes.

“I’ll bet my best bourbon this is the key,” Damon said.

“Don’t bet—break it,” Caroline retorted.

Tyler lunged, claws sinking into the stone. The obelisk cracked, unleashing a supernatural shriek. The red sky dissolved, and the four of them were pulled back into the original clearing.

Core 1 — The Ritual’s Edge

They returned just as Gideon began the final spell. The circle’s light was blinding. Two wolves guarded the edges, keeping Elijah and Alaric back.

“If he finishes, the veil between worlds will tear open!” Bonnie cried.

Caroline blurred forward, snapping a wolf’s neck. Tyler tore into another with feral rage, hurling it from the circle.

“Now!” Damon shouted.

Stefan and Elijah lunged together. Elara, ignoring the pain burning through her body, sprinted into the circle and drove the enchanted dagger into the central symbol. The ground shook, and the glow died out like a snuffed candle.

Gideon staggered back, bleeding.
“You… have no idea what you’ve done,” he rasped.

Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by heavy breaths. The runes disintegrated into ash. Gideon stumbled, skin scorched by his own magic.
“No… this can’t…”

Tyler snarled low, half-transformed. The wolves, their eyes clearing, turned on Gideon instead of the group.

“They remember,” Bonnie whispered. “They know who forced them.”

Caroline and Damon blocked Gideon’s retreat.
“Not running this time, ‘Master of Canine Chains,’” Damon sneered.

Elara gripped her dagger but didn’t move. She didn’t need to—the wolves would finish what he began.

The first wolf lunged. Gideon tried to summon a spell, but his power flickered, unstable. Another wolf struck his side, dragging him down. The clearing filled with the sounds of tearing flesh.

“Ugh,” Caroline muttered, looking away. “That’s brutal, even for me.”

“He did this to them,” Stefan said coldly. “It’s only fair they end it.”

Gideon screamed, but his voice was drowned by snarls and the snapping of bones. His last flicker of magic sputtered out. When the wolves finally stepped back, what remained of him was nothing but a broken corpse.

Tyler exhaled heavily, his features returning to normal.
“They’re free now.”

The clearing was silent. Elijah wiped his blade clean, his face unreadable.
“Then it’s finished.”

“Finished,” Damon said dryly, “but with a horror B-movie ending. Anyone else hungry?”

Elara forced a smile, but inside she knew the truth: Gideon wasn’t the only threat. The magical world had a long memory—and far too many buried secrets.

Post-Credit Scene: Elara’s Diary

Dear diary… what a ridiculous name. I don’t even know why I still write in this thing. Maybe because if I say it out loud, Damon will think I’m practicing speeches, and Caroline will want to correct my diction. Whatever.

Today I was almost roasted alive by a necromancer who apparently used to work for Esther Mikaelson. Impressive résumé. A+ performance. Too bad he got devoured by his own pet wolves. Irony, Discovery Channel edition.

Damon, of course, thought the whole thing was “fun.” He actually compared our fight with glowing-eyed monsters to a “B-movie.” I was still coughing blood while he was already planning his next bourbon. Priorities.

Caroline complained about the smell of burning. I wanted to remind her that I was the one almost burning, but I kept quiet—her hair was already a mess, and doubling the drama seemed unfair.

Elijah… ah, Elijah. Always with that “last noble knight on Earth” vibe, even when we’re covered in mud, blood, and tree debris. If he says “this isn’t over” one more time, I swear I’ll throw the dagger at him just to change the script.

Summary of the day: I survived. Again. Which means tomorrow, probably, some other supernatural entity will try to use me as a mystical key to open an interdimensional portal. Can’t wait.

P.S.: I need to buy more pens. Damon stole my last one to stir his cocktail. He said the ink “added flavor.” I swear I don’t make this stuff up.

Chapter Text

The road to Mystic Falls was silent. The car jolted slightly as Damon drove, but no one seemed willing to break the heavy mood left behind after the clearing.

Elara stared out the window, trying to lose herself in the scenery. But the scene replaying in her head wasn’t the wolves or Gideon being torn apart—it was something much older… and far more intimate.

She remembered the cold glow of a computer screen, that night when everything had changed.
A black background, white letters pulsing as if alive:

"Welcome, Elara.
You have been selected.
New destination: Mystic Falls.
New body: Hybrid.
Condition: Do not tell anyone you are reincarnated, or your soul will be deleted."

She had laughed at first, thinking it was some morbid joke… until she felt that pull in her chest, that overwhelming vertigo, and woke up in a body that wasn’t hers.
The body she now inhabited.
The life she now lived.
The secret she carried like a ticking time bomb.

A snap of fingers in front of her face pulled her back.

“Earth to Elara…” Damon raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror. “You’re so lost in thought I can practically hear the dramatic dum dum dum soundtrack in your head.”

“Just… thinking,” she answered quickly, forcing a half-smile.

Caroline, sitting beside her, glanced at her with concern.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were incredible back there. Without you, we might not have broken the circle in time.”

Elara only nodded, unable to meet her eyes. If they knew the truth…

In the backseat, Tyler rested his head against the window, eyes distant.
“They were looking at me… before they left. Like they expected me to… I don’t know… take care of them.” His voice was low, almost guilty.

“Tyler, this isn’t your fault,” Stefan said calmly. “Gideon used forbidden magic. They were forced.”

“But I’m the one who brought the pack back to Mystic Falls.” He clenched his fists. “That makes it my responsibility.”

Silence returned, dense and suffocating. Only the sound of the engine filled the air.

Elara tried to distract herself, but every time the memory of that message surfaced, her stomach knotted. Was the threat real? If I tell them… will something—or someone—actually erase me?

By the time they reached the town, the sky was already painted orange by the setting sun. Everyone looked exhausted. Damon tossed the keys onto the Salvatore kitchen counter.

“Well, mission accomplished. Witch dead, wolves freed…” He raised a finger. “And zero gratitude for my evasive driving skills.”

Caroline rolled her eyes but allowed a small smile.
“I’ll go check if Bonnie needs help cleaning up the magical residue from that clearing.”

Tyler headed straight to the porch, probably to call the few wolves who still considered Mystic Falls home. Stefan followed quietly.

Elara stood frozen in the middle of the room, weighed down by the invisible burden of what she could never say.
As Damon’s and Caroline’s distant laughter echoed, she remembered those words on the screen again: Do not tell anyone you are reincarnated… or your soul will be deleted.

And for the first time since arriving in this world, she wondered…
What if someone here already knows?

Author’s Note:
So… it’s official. Elara survived yet another chapter without being deleted by the “cursed screen.” Congrats to her—I’d personally given up somewhere around the second golden-eyed wolf.

Damon is still treating the apocalypse like a pit stop before happy hour. Caroline still manages to fix her hair mid-battle (nobody talks about this, but it’s true). Stefan remains the picture of yoga-teacher patience, and Tyler… well, Tyler urgently needs group therapy, but honestly, who doesn’t in this town?

And yes, Elijah is still 100% in his “I am a medieval knight who accidentally wandered into a CW soap opera” mood.

Summary: the gang’s alive, Gideon is werewolf chow, and Elara now has more secrets than a teenager’s diary.

Next chapter? Maybe romance, maybe more trauma, maybe just Damon complaining there’s not enough bourbon.

P.S.: Somebody please remember to buy Elara more pens. Damon keeps stealing hers.

Chapter Text

Night was falling over a back road, far from the lights of Mystic Falls. A cold wind swept through the forest, carrying with it the damp scent of earth—and something else... something ancient.

Klaus walked alone, his long coat swaying with the slow rhythm of his steps. He had left the main road behind, guided by a sensation he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t a tracking spell, nor common witchcraft. It was deeper.

At first, he thought it was yet another attempt by Elijah or some ally to lure him into a trap. But as he drew closer to the heart of the woods, the feeling shifted.

It was like hearing a whisper within his blood.

He stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Images came—swift, intense:

a symbol carved in stone, like the ones he had seen centuries ago in Scotland, tied to reversal spells;

a wolf with golden eyes, staring straight at him;

and the face of a woman, shrouded in shadow, yet with a firm, almost defiant gaze.

The most unsettling part wasn’t that he recognized her—because he didn’t. It was the sense of belonging that came with it. As if something in him called out to her.

Klaus opened his eyes slowly, a short, almost involuntary smile forming.
"Key and lock..." he muttered to himself.

He knew enough about ancestral magic to understand that certain combinations of blood and power didn’t happen by chance. And if that sensation came from Mystic Falls...
Ah, then it was worth changing his plans.

That same night, at the Salvatore mansion, Elara was alone in the kitchen. The rest of the group was still recovering from the battle against Gideon and the wolves. The clock on the wall struck nearly midnight.

She poured herself a glass of water, but her hand trembled slightly. Since returning from the clearing, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling—like she was being watched by something that didn’t need eyes to see her.

The air grew colder.
The lamp above flickered.

Elara froze, the glass halfway to her lips.

No one was there, but she felt it. An invisible weight, a presence that wasn’t hostile, but... inquisitive. As if she were being examined, measured.

Her heart raced.
And then, for an instant, she felt a heartbeat that wasn’t her own—slower, heavier, as though it echoed within her.

She dropped the glass in the sink and gripped the counter, breathing hard.

"No..." she whispered. "This is impossible."

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t.

At the edge of the road, a few miles from town, Klaus stopped before an old bridge. The wind blew against him, carrying the faint scent of oak, iron... and something infinitely rarer: a hybrid essence that wasn’t his.

He closed his eyes and let instinct guide the smile that spread across his lips.
"So this is where you are..."

Without hurry, he crossed the bridge and headed toward Mystic Falls.
This time, not just for his old games of power.
This time, for something he couldn’t even name—but instinctively knew would change everything.

Author’s Note:
It’s official. He’s here. The British hurricane of sarcasm, family trauma, and irresistible accent has finally made his entrance: Klaus Mikaelson. 🎺 cue dramatic trumpets 🎺

I don’t know about you, but I’m already bracing myself for:

300% more monologues about “family” (while he strangles someone, of course).

Elijah rolling his eyes because he’ll have to clean up his brother’s mess, again.

Caroline pretending she doesn’t care, but already reaching for the lip gloss the moment his name comes up.

Damon ready to compete in the “who’s the most insufferable in the room” championship.

And of course, Elara now has a brand-new problem: not only is she hiding the fact that she’s a reincarnated soul with a limited-life contract, she’s also caught the attention of the most unstable Mikaelson in history. Congratulations, darling, your disaster résumé is looking flawless.

Summary: Klaus has arrived, Mystic Falls better watch out, and me... I’m just here with the popcorn.

Chapter Text

The sky over Mystic Falls was covered in thick clouds, as if the night itself had decided to hide the moon.
Outside the Salvatore boarding house, the wind carried dry leaves across the road, spreading a constant whisper—almost human.

In the upstairs bedroom, Elara stared at the grimoire open on her bed.
The same page refused to turn, revealing again and again the symbol of the key and lock, entwined with black roots.
She had spent hours trying to ignore it, but now the letters were starting to pulse, as if they were breathing.

Suddenly, a low, deep sound echoed from the next room.
It wasn’t Damon or Stefan—they had both gone out to check on reports of wolves prowling the perimeter.
Caroline was with Bonnie in town.

Elara moved toward the window, trying to identify the source.
And then she saw it—for just one second—the silhouette of a tall man on the sidewalk, his head slightly tilted, watching the boarding house.
The wind lifted his dark overcoat, revealing leather boots and a stance so calm it bordered on provocative.

When she blinked… he was gone.

The Alley Scene

A few blocks away, Klaus walked casually through a narrow alley.
Behind him, three wolves—remnants of Gideon’s pack—crept closer in silence, thinking he hadn’t noticed them.

"You know," Klaus suddenly stopped, his voice low but dripping with irony, "when you try to follow someone, it’s good manners not to breathe as though you’re about to attack."

The three exchanged uneasy glances.
The largest of them, bearded and furious, lunged first, claws half-formed.

Klaus smirked.

The strike came fast, but he dodged with ease, catching the wolf’s wrist and twisting until a sharp crack echoed.
The second tried to pounce from behind, but Klaus spun, using the first wolf as a shield.
The sickening snap of breaking bones filled the alley.

The third hesitated—a fatal mistake.
Klaus seized him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, his gaze cold and calculating.

"I didn’t come here to hunt wolves," he said, his voice tinged with dangerous charm, "but you have something I want."

"W-we don’t know anything…" the wolf stammered, feeling Klaus’s fangs draw closer.

"Oh, I think you do…" Klaus released him abruptly, letting him fall to the ground. "Tell me who the girl is—the one who carries the scent of two natures."

The wolves exchanged a tense look.
None answered.

Klaus sighed, as if growing impatient.
In a swift movement, he snapped one’s neck and grabbed the other by the nape.

"I asked once. Next time, there will be no one left to answer."

Terrified, the survivor whispered,
"E-Elara… she was with the vampires… in the clearing… she fought Gideon."

Klaus’s smile returned, slower this time.
"Elara…" He savored the name, testing its weight on his tongue. "How interesting."

He let the wolf go, watching him flee.

Back at the Boarding House

Elara descended the stairs cautiously, the grimoire still in her hands.
When she reached the living room, she stopped—Damon was entering, wiping blood from his leather jacket.

"Problem solved?" she asked, trying to mask her nerves.

"More or less…" Damon tossed the jacket onto the sofa. "Three wolves dead, one missing. Probably licking its wounds in some alley. But…" he fixed her with his evaluating stare, "you look paler than usual. Did a ghost pass through here?"

Elara hesitated. If she told him about the figure in the street, she’d have to explain why she believed it was connected to her.
And that would mean getting dangerously close to her secret.

"Nothing important. Just… didn’t sleep well."

Damon narrowed his eyes, suspicious, but didn’t press.
"Great. Then why don’t you head upstairs and rest before you faint and I have to carry you?"

She nodded and went back up.

The Connection

In the stillness of midnight, Elara awoke to the sound of the grimoire opening on its own.
The letters on the page shifted before her eyes, forming a new phrase:

"The lock feels the key. The distance shortens."

A chill ran down her spine.
Without knowing why, she looked toward the window—and there he was.

Klaus.

Standing across the street, motionless as a statue, yet his eyes fixed on her.
Even at that distance, she felt it—a pull in her chest, as though something within her recognized something within him.

When she blinked, he was gone.

But on the table beside the grimoire, a white rose now lay, a golden drop glistening on its petal.
She hadn’t heard the door. She hadn’t caught his scent.
He had come in… and left… without her noticing.

And in that instant, Elara knew the real game had just begun.

Author’s Note:

Okay, guys, seriously, I need to say this: I LOVE KLAUS! 😍 Like, totally, hopelessly—he’s the king of charm, the absolute heartthrob, the chaos we adore watching… And Elara? She’s amazing, smart, brave… and honestly, she’s starting to win my heart too!

…BUT wait… Elara, are you looking at me like that? 😳 You’re staring? Talking to me? Hold on—you’re breaking the fourth wall!

"Author!" Elara shouted, bursting through the page, nearly knocking the pen from my hand. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME???"

She pointed a finger straight at me—me, the author, just trying to type this story without a heart attack.
"You put Klaus on the street, staring at me like I’m some kind of snack? YOU KNOW HE’S GOING TO KILL ME, RIGHT?! Or worse… God only knows what he’ll do!"

Elara huffed, arms crossed, rolling her eyes.
"And you’ve got that smile—like you’re enjoying this at my expense?! AUTHOR, THIS IS TORTURE!"
"You know what?" she continued, stepping further onto the page, almost breaking out of the book. "The next time you bring that… that heart-destroying cat here, I’M COMING FOR YOU! I’ll invade your keyboard and erase every single chapter!"

She took a sharp breath, her eyes still blazing.
"And if you think I’m going to fall for him just because you said he’s charming… you’re dead wrong! I WON’T!" She threw the grimoire to the floor, the page trembling.

"Listen here, AUTHOR," Elara whispered, her finger nearly pressing against the screen, "if you keep putting me in these situations, I swear Klaus… Klaus… will realize I know you’re manipulating me and then… well, God help us all!" 😱

She gave my hand a phantom slap—me, the poor author—before storming off with a glare.
"So write this properly, or at least let me live without panicking every time he shows up in the street!"

And with that, she vanished back into the glow of the page, leaving me trembling—and laughing—at the same time.

💀 Moral of the story: never underestimate Elara when she decides to fight her own author.

Chapter Text

The room was swallowed in thick twilight.
The only sound was the soft tick-tock of the old wall clock, each beat louder than it should have been.

Elara sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the white rose.
The golden drop on its petal wasn’t paint or pollen — it looked like liquid gold, shimmering as if alive.

Her heart was still racing.
She knew what she’d seen.
Or rather — who she’d seen.

But how?
No vampire could come that close without her noticing… and even the fastest of them couldn’t have left such a symbolic gift without making a sound.

She brushed her fingers across the petal, and a subtle warmth crawled up her skin.
The grimoire lying open beside her seemed to hum faintly on the mattress.
When she looked down, new words had appeared — written in a different hand than before:

“The meeting is inevitable.
The key never runs from the lock… and the lock never forgets the key.”

The air in the room grew colder, as if an invisible window had been opened.

Across the street

A few yards away, hidden beneath the twisted shadow of a tree, Klaus watched her window.
His eyes gleamed with a strange mix of curiosity and possession.

It wasn’t common for him… to feel.
But there was something about that girl that went beyond intrigue.

“Interesting,” he murmured to himself.

The memory of their brief eye contact cut through his mind like a blade.
It wasn’t just beauty.
It was recognition — as if he had finally found something that saw him for what he was, without needing introductions.

He stepped back, blending deeper into the dark.
His original goal had been simple: discover why her scent carried two natures.
But now, he was drawn to her — not like a predator to prey he wanted to devour… not yet.

The street was silent, save for the distant growl of a motorcycle.
He smiled.

“I see my dear brother still hasn’t realized the hunt has changed direction.”

And then he vanished into the night.

Bonnie’s House

Across town, Elijah stood before a table covered with papers and ancient notes.
Bonnie, exhausted, closed a grimoire and took a sip of coffee.

“You’re tense,” she said, breaking the silence. “More than usual.”

Elijah looked up, impassive.
“There are… signs my brother may have arrived in town.”

“Signs?” she echoed. “What kind of signs?”

He exhaled slowly, resting both hands on the table.
“Sudden silences… rumors of wolves found dead without the usual marks… and a familiar feeling in the air.”

“A feeling?” she asked.

“As if the city itself were holding its breath,” Elijah finished.

The Salvatore Boarding House – Late Night

Elara still couldn’t sleep.
She went downstairs, grimoire in hand, and found Damon leaning against the counter, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“Is insomnia contagious, or are you just trying to copy me?” he asked without looking at her.

“I can’t stop thinking…” she began, hesitant. “Damon, if someone wanted to get in here… unnoticed… could they?”

He raised an eyebrow.
“That your subtle way of asking if I’m doing a bad job keeping the place safe?”

“It’s my way of asking if you’ve ever met anyone who could do it better than you.”

Damon froze for a second, analyzing her.
“Something happen?”

Elara looked away, tense.
“Maybe… just a weird dream.”

He didn’t believe her, but before he could press further, the door slammed open.
Stefan walked in, coat splattered with mud.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said grimly. “Three bodies were found near the east alley. One belonged to Gideon’s pack. The other two… were vampires. Killed efficiently.”

“Efficiently how?” Damon asked.

Stefan met his eyes.
“By someone with experience.”

The silence that followed was almost tangible.

Klaus’s Point of View

From the rooftop of an old building, Klaus watched Mystic Falls as if it were a chessboard.
There was no need to rush.
The key — Elara — had already felt his presence.
And he knew that the more she tried to resist, the stronger their connection would grow.

“The game has begun,” he murmured, letting the wind steal the words.

In his eyes, there was no doubt.
The lock was already chosen.
All that was left… was to turn the key.

Post-credit Scene – Elara’s Diary

Dear diary,

Okay, deep breath… because tonight was one of those nights. My heart’s still trying to break out of my chest.
First: the white rose. With the golden drop. Not normal, not human, definitely not safe.
Who just leaves something like that? Oh right — Klaus Mikaelson, chaos on legs with a murderous smile. 💀

Yes, he was there. Across the street, staring at me like I was some piece of art he couldn’t decide whether to destroy or adore.
And I felt something. I don’t even know if it was fear, fascination, anger — or my brain finally giving up.
God, I hate admitting this, but my stupid heart did skip a beat. 😡💔

And listen, diary — if Klaus ever finds out I’m writing this, he’ll hunt me down.
And if he thinks I’m secretly enjoying this whole situation… well, only God knows what he’d do.
Probably something terrible. Probably something impossibly charming and fatal.

Oh, and let’s not forget the author.
Yes, you — the one typing this mess and thinking it’s funny to throw Klaus in front of me and ruin my sleep.
Careful. Because if I ever find out you did it on purpose, I will invade your keyboard, burn every chapter, and maybe — just maybe — curse you with the inability to write any character that doesn’t drive me insane. 😤

So, dear diary, here’s what I learned tonight:
1️⃣ Klaus is dangerously charming, way too lethal for any human being.
2️⃣ My heart is a complete idiot and refuses to listen even when I scream.
3️⃣ I no longer trust the author. Not even a little. She’s laughing at my pain while she writes this chaos.

P.S.: If Klaus shows up again, I’ll scream, cry, and write an entire paragraph cursing him and the author.
And yes — my heart will still beat faster.
Damn that rose. Damn that liquid gold. Damn Klaus! 😱🔥

— Elara

Chapter Text

The clock at the Salvatore Boarding House read almost eight in the evening when Elara closed the grimoire for the fifth time that hour.
No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the words “the lock feels the key” burned in her mind like a constant echo.

She walked down the stairs with determined steps, crossing the room where Damon lounged on the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand, while Stefan was leafing through a thick book about hybrid creatures.

“Meeting. Now,” she said, without preamble.

Damon raised an eyebrow.
“And here I was thinking I was the only one in this house who gave orders.”

“I’m not kidding, Damon. Call everyone. Elena, Jeremy, Bonnie, Caroline… even Tyler. And make it quick.”

Stefan looked up, noticing the tension in her voice.
“Did something happen?”

Elara took a deep breath, her hands still clenched into fists.
“He’s here.”

Damon froze, the glass halfway to his lips.
“‘He’ who?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Klaus. I saw him. Standing across the street, staring right at my window.” She turned to Stefan. “And it wasn’t a delusion. I felt him. He got into the house without me noticing and left… this.” She opened her hand, revealing the white rose with a golden drop on its petal.

Damon took the flower, twirling it between his fingers.
“Dramatic… just the way he likes it.”

“This isn’t a game, Damon.” Her voice was steady, but there was a flicker of nerves in her eyes. “If he’s here, we’re all on his radar. He didn’t come just for Elena.”

The Meeting at the Boarding House

Half an hour later, the living room was full.
Bonnie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed; Caroline sat in the armchair; Tyler stood restlessly by the window; and Jeremy perched on the arm of the sofa, glancing sideways at Elena.

Stefan started the meeting.
“Elara asked to bring everyone together. It’s about Klaus.”

All eyes turned to her.
Elara took a step forward, feeling the weight of the moment.

“Last night, Klaus was here. He wasn’t trying to attack— not yet— but he made it clear that he knows exactly where to find us.” She gave Elena a brief look. “That means our time is up. He’s toying with us.”

Tyler frowned.
“And what does he want? Start hunting wolves again? Because I’m tired of being the prey.”

Bonnie answered before Elara could.
“It’s not about the wolves, Tyler. It’s about the curse. And if he’s after it…” She looked at Elena, then at Elara. “…or after them.”

Damon leaned back, swirling his glass.
“So let’s cut to the chase. We’ve got a psychotic hybrid in town and two girls who might be on his hit list. What’s the plan?”

Elara straightened her shoulders.
“The plan is to keep everyone alive. And for that, we need to stop hiding the truth inside this house.”

She turned to Elena, who tensed in her chair.
“You need to tell your aunt. Today. Jenna has the right to know what’s going on.”

“Elara…” Elena began, her voice hesitant. “It’s not that simple. I want to protect her.”

“Protect her how?” Elara stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. “By keeping her in the dark while creatures she doesn’t even know exist walk around this town? Ignorance isn’t protection, Elena. It’s a death sentence. She deserves to know what she’s up against.”

Jeremy shifted on the couch.
“I agree with Elara. After everything that’s happened… Jenna deserves the truth.”

Caroline, uneasy, spoke up.
“Look, I get what Elara’s saying… but do you have any idea what kind of shock that would be for her? It could destroy Jenna.”

“Or save her life,” Elara countered, her voice sharp. “You think Klaus cares whether she knows or not? He’d use her without blinking.”

Rising Tension

Silence fell for a few seconds, broken only by the sound of wind against the windows.

Stefan spoke calmly but firmly.
“Elena, it’s your decision. But if Elara saw Klaus this close, it means he’s starting to move. And when he moves… things happen fast.”

Damon set his glass down on the table.
“I’m voting with Elara on this one. Fewer people walking around clueless sounds good to me.”

Elena took a deep breath, clearly struggling with the idea.
“I’ll… think about it,” she said, but her expression made it clear she knew she didn’t have much time.

End of the Meeting

Before anyone could say another word, Tyler glanced at the window.
“I thought I saw something outside.”

Damon was at the door in a second, but when he opened it— nothing. Just the empty street, shadows dancing in the wind.

Elara, however, felt it.
A shiver ran down her spine, and upstairs, the grimoire began to open on its own.
On the page, the letters formed silently:

“The key and the lock have already touched. The seal weakens.”

She closed her eyes, understanding the message.
Klaus didn’t need to enter the house.
He was already everywhere.

Author’s Note

Guys… I swear, when I started writing this chapter, I thought, “It’s going to be chill. Just a simple little meeting, everyone sitting down like civilized adults.”
But NO! Damon has to be the sarcastic uncle of the room, Elena doing her usual “should I tell or not tell” routine (as always 🙄), and then there’s Elara, storming in like a bank manager ready to audit everyone’s life.

And right in the middle of all that— who shows up? Of course, Klaus “Drama King” Mikaelson, who apparently doesn’t know how to just knock on the door like a normal person. Nope, he has to materialize at the window, drop off white roses with golden drops (because red is way too mainstream), and leave cryptic lines like a soap opera villain. 😏

At this point, I’m just thinking:
✨ Damon — has a lifetime contract with sarcasm.
✨ Stefan — walking instruction manual.
✨ Elena — indecision is my middle name.
✨ Elara — “nobody lies to my face, I’ll expose everyone.”
✨ Klaus — drama, poetry, and threats all in one irresistible combo.

Conclusion: I wanted to write mystery, but apparently, I’m writing a supernatural sitcom with a suspense soundtrack. 😂

— Signed: the author, who has officially given up pretending to control these characters.

Chapter Text

Night fell heavy over Mystic Falls.
The cold air carried the scent of damp earth, the aftermath of the drizzle that had persisted all afternoon.
On Jenna’s porch, the yellow lights reflected in the puddles of the yard, and the distant hum of crickets blended with the rustling of leaves.

Elara and Elena stood before the door.
Elena took a deep breath, as if trying to summon the courage to leap off a cliff.

“There’s still time to back out…” said Elara softly, more as a test than a suggestion.

“I know you think there isn’t, but…” Elena looked down. “She’s my aunt. I don’t want to see her world fall apart.”

“Her world is already surrounded by monsters, Elena,” Elara said, her tone firm but not cold. “The only difference is—she doesn’t know it yet.”

Elena didn’t answer. She simply knocked on the door.

The Revelation

Jenna appeared at the doorway with a tired smile.
“You two...? Well, this is a surprise.” She looked at Elena. “I thought you were staying at the boarding house tonight.”

“We need to talk.” Elena stepped inside, gently pulling her aunt with her. Elara followed, closing the door behind them.

Jenna frowned, sensing the weight in her niece’s tone.
“You’re starting to scare me. What happened?”

Elena exchanged a quick look with Elara before speaking.
“It’s... complicated. But you need to know.” She paused, took a breath. “The world isn’t what you think it is. There are things... that aren’t human.”

Jenna gave a nervous laugh.
“What do you mean, ‘not human’? Elena, is this some kind of weird joke?”

Elara stepped forward.
“It’s not a joke,” she said quietly, controlled. “And I can prove it.”

She opened the grimoire she’d been carrying under her arm and laid it on the table.
The pages turned on their own, stopping at a symbol that began to glow faintly.

Jenna took a step back.
“How... how did you do that?”

Elara didn’t answer. She extended her hand and murmured words in a language Jenna didn’t recognize.
The candles on the dining table lit themselves one by one—no matches, no lighter.
The air shifted, thickened, as if something unseen had entered the room.

“My God…” Jenna gasped, hand to her mouth, eyes wide. “This is... real.”

“Yes.” Elena stepped closer to her aunt. “And it’s dangerous. People like Klaus...” She hesitated, swallowing her nerves. “They don’t care who they hurt. You need to know this to stay safe.”

“‘People like Klaus’? Who is Klaus?” Jenna’s voice rose.

“He’s…” Elena struggled to find the words, but Elara spoke instead.

“He’s the kind of monster horror stories try to imitate. And he’s in Mystic Falls. Jenna… you can’t trust strangers. Not even the ones who look like friends.”

Intercut Scene — Klaus on the Move

Meanwhile, in a dark alley a few streets away, Klaus watched a parked truck.
Two men were unloading crates, laughing, unaware of the danger nearby.
With near-silent steps, he crossed the street and leaned against the wall, studying them like a predator studying its prey.

“I need a favor,” he said to the larger of the two men, who froze in place. “And the two of you are going to help me... even if you don’t know it yet.”

Moments later, the streets were empty.
The wind carried the metallic scent of blood.

Back at Jenna’s House

Jenna sat down slowly, as if her legs could no longer hold her.
“So... you’re telling me that... vampires exist? And werewolves... witches... all of it is real?”

“Yes.” Elena took her hands. “And you need to believe it, because you’ve been caught up in it before—without realizing.”

Elara closed the grimoire.
“Klaus doesn’t attack without a plan. He likes to isolate the pieces on the board before making his move.”

She looked at Jenna. “If he already knows about me... and Elena... he might try to use you.”

Jenna ran her hands over her face, stunned.
“I... I don’t even know how to react to this.”

“React by living,” said Elara, standing up. “But live with your eyes open.”

The Beginning of Isolation

As they left, Elara stopped on the sidewalk.
The wind blew hard, tossing her hair.
She felt the weight of a gaze.
She looked across the street—nothing.

But in her coat pocket, there was now a folded piece of parchment.
She opened it. Just two words, written in golden ink:

“Alone. Soon.”

Her heart quickened.
Klaus wasn’t just in the city.
He was setting the pace.

Author’s Note

If you’ve made it this far, congratulations—you’ve survived another round of drama, magic, and beautiful people making terrible life choices. I wrote this part between sips of coffee and mild existential crises about why I insist on throwing my characters into situations I personally would never face (like confronting Klaus—or leaving the house in this weather).

I promise no major characters were harmed in the making of this chapter. Well… almost none.

Thank you for reading, for suffering along with me, and for not reporting my witches to the Mystic Falls council.

See you in the next chapter—where everything will, of course, get worse. 💀✨

Chapter Text

The night in Mystic Falls felt heavier than usual.
Outside the Salvatore Boarding House, the wind scraped against the windows like invisible claws.
Elara stood in the upstairs hallway, phone in hand, feeling the weight of the decision she was about to make.

She took a deep breath.
Calling Elijah Mikaelson was never simple — every word with him had to be deliberate, every detail carefully chosen.

The line rang three times before he answered.

“Elara,” his voice was calm, steady, carrying that dangerous sort of politeness. “You don’t usually call me at this hour.”

“I don’t usually see your brother wandering the city,” she countered, walking to the window and peering down at the empty street. “Klaus is here, Elijah. I saw him. It wasn’t a trick of the light.”

There was a calculated silence on the other end.
“Are you absolutely certain?”

“Certain enough to know he was watching me. And the grimoire…” She looked at the book on the desk — its pages still open, the words pulsing like blood under skin. “...has been reacting ever since.”

“Reacting how?”

“The sentences keep changing. Always about… the key and the lock.”

Elijah didn’t reply right away. When he did, his voice carried a trace of tension that only someone who knew him well could detect.
“Then perhaps Elena Gilbert is no longer his only point of interest.”

A chill ran down Elara’s spine.
“If you know something, Elijah… it’s time to tell me.”

“Not yet,” he said calmly. “But if Klaus has turned his eyes toward you, we’ll need to stay a step ahead. Keep close to people you can trust.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh.
“That’s a problem... because in our world, trust is a luxury item.”

The Grimoire and the Witch

Bonnie’s living room smelled of burnt herbs. Candles arranged in a circle threw unsteady shadows across the walls.
The grimoire, open in the center, seemed alive. The ancient letters moved like serpents, reshaping themselves into new phrases, whispering as they did.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” murmured Bonnie, her eyes fixed on the book. “Usually, enchanted texts react to keywords or specific rituals. But this... it’s responding to someone.”

Elara crossed her arms, uneasy.
“Since Klaus arrived, the grimoire hasn’t stopped. And those sentences—‘The lock feels the key. The distance lessens.’ What does that mean to you?”

Bonnie ran her fingers over the shifting letters, as if she could feel the magic through them.
“In old magic, ‘key and lock’ aren’t just metaphors. It’s a mystical bond. The key completes the lock, unlocking power... or breaking a barrier.”

“And you think…” Elara hesitated; the idea sounded absurd even as she said it. “...I’m the key to something of Klaus’s?”

Bonnie looked up.
“I think Elena isn’t the only piece on the board anymore. And that changes everything.”

The silence that followed was heavy.
Outside, the rustling of the trees was broken by a sharp crack — a branch snapping. Elara moved to the window and swore she saw, for just a second, a shadow slipping between the houses.

A Piece in Motion

A few streets away, Klaus watched the faint light from Bonnie’s house.
Leaning against a lamppost, hands in his pockets, he looked like an ordinary man passing the time. But his eyes were fixed on one thing: the silhouette of Elara in the window.

A slow smile curved his lips.

“The lock,” he murmured to himself, “is finally beginning to feel the key.”

Across the street, a figure approached — a loyal vampire, recently arrived in town.
“Do you want me to bring her to you?” the subordinate asked.

Klaus shook his head.
“No. Not yet. First, we cut away what keeps her safe. Isolate her. She’ll come on her own... by choice.”

Last Words of the Night

When Elara left Bonnie’s house, the grimoire was wrapped in thick fabric and bound with leather straps.
“Don’t open it alone,” Bonnie warned. “And keep Damon and Stefan close — even if it’s annoying.”

“Annoying doesn’t even cover it,” Elara muttered, pulling her coat tighter against the cold wind. “But I’ll try.”

As she walked toward her car, the feeling of being watched grew stronger. She turned sharply—nothing.
And yet, beneath the whisper of the leaves, she could swear she heard a deep, masculine echo:

“The distance lessens…”

The car engine roared to life, but deep down, Elara knew Klaus had already made the first move.
And now, every step she took was part of a game he knew far better than she did.

Post-Credit Scene — Klaus’s Vision

Atop the abandoned church bell tower, Klaus looked out over the city that already seemed to pulse with his influence.
Mystic Falls was small, predictable, fragile... but now there was something — someone — that changed the game.

Elara.

He tilted his head slightly, recalling the brief glimpse of her at the window — the rigid posture, the way she held the grimoire as if it were both shield and burden.

“Oh, little one,” he thought with a slow smile. “You still don’t understand. It’s not the book reacting to you. It’s you reacting to me.”

He walked to the edge of the tower, hands clasped behind his back, watching the distant lights of the boarding house.
The Salvatore brothers moved like nervous guard dogs, Bonnie dug into ancient rituals as if magic alone could stop him, and even Elijah hovered nearby, wearing that noble air of superiority that made him think he was always two steps ahead.

Klaus let out a low, amused laugh.
“They haven’t realized yet... it’s not about Elena anymore. The key already feels the lock. And once the bond is complete, no wall, no Salvatore, no spell will stand in my way.”

He took a small dagger from his pocket, twirling it between his fingers before slipping it back into place.
There was no need to rush.
Haste was for fools.
He preferred to savor.

And as he descended into the shadows, disappearing as if the night itself had swallowed him, his final words lingered in the wind:

“She’ll come. By her own will. And when she does... Mystic Falls will learn the true meaning of surrender.”

The moon was hidden, the wind colder than before.
But somewhere in the dark, like a poorly kept secret, the game already had a winner.

Chapter Text

The early dawn stretched like a veil over Mystic Falls.
By the edge of the lake, Klaus walked alone, hands in his pockets, watching the mist rise from the water. He spoke softly, as if conversing with someone unseen.

“The fragility of humanity is a gift,” he murmured. “Touch the right spot, and everything shatters.”

Across the lake, a shadow shifted.
“And the girl?” a male voice called, muffled by distance.

“Elara?” Klaus smiled, though there was no warmth in his eyes. “She still doesn’t understand her role. And that’s what makes it... delicious.”

He took something from his pocket — the same parchment he had slipped into it hours before — and tossed it into the lake, watching the golden ink dissolve.
“First, I’ll strip away her sense of safety. Then, she’ll come to me on her own.”

Bonnie’s Room

The sun had barely risen when Bonnie Bennett leaned over a table covered with ancient books and scribbled notes.
The open grimoire before her displayed a diagram that looked like a blend of a protection circle and a containment seal.

The phone rang.
“Elena?” Bonnie asked, still scanning the text.

“I need to talk to you,” Elena’s voice came through, tense. “It’s about Elara.”

Minutes later, Elena stood in the room, dark circles under her eyes.
“Bonnie... Klaus isn’t just after me. He knows about Elara. And…” she hesitated. “I think she’s part of the curse too.”

Bonnie pointed to the diagram in the book.
“I suspected as much. Look here.” She ran a finger over a double sigil. “This mark represents two keys: human blood from the Petrova line... and witch blood tied to a specific ancestral bond.”

Elena’s eyes widened. “Elara…”

“Yes,” Bonnie said, closing the book. “Klaus always needed a Petrova to unlock the curse. But if he’s discovered there’s a second ‘gate’ that can be opened through Elara… he’ll want both. At the same time.”

The Social Trap

Meanwhile, Elara walked through downtown Mystic Falls.
She received a message from Damon: “Need to talk. Alone. Urgent.”
The tone was strange, but she went to the Mystic Grill anyway.

When she entered, Damon wasn’t there.
Instead, she saw a tall figure in a light suit sitting in the corner — polished smile, predatory gaze.

“Elara,” said Klaus, as if greeting an old friend. “How nice of you to come.”

She took a step back. “You sent the message…”

“Me?” He smirked. “No. But what a coincidence, isn’t it?” He gestured for her to sit. “Small town. Encounters are... inevitable.”

Elara stayed standing. “What do you want from me?”

Klaus leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. “You’re... special. And I don’t just mean your little talent with spells. There’s something in your blood — something rare.”

He paused, eyes fixed on her. “You’re the second key.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You will.” He stood up. “When everyone else turns against you, you’ll realize I’m the only one who understands what you truly are.”

He brushed past her, but not before whispering against her ear,
“And when that day comes... you’ll choose the right side.”

The Crack in the Circle

At the Salvatore Boarding House, Stefan answered a call from Caroline.
“She’s missing again, Stefan. Elara went out and didn’t say where.”

When Elara finally returned hours later, Damon was waiting at the door.
“Where were you?” he demanded, unable to hide his irritation.

“I got your message. I went to the Grill. But you weren’t there,” she said, confused.

“I didn’t send you any message,” Damon frowned. “Someone’s playing with you.”

“Or using me,” Elara muttered under her breath. But deep down, she already knew who it was.

The First Fracture

That night, Bonnie was flipping through another grimoire when Elena rushed in.
“He’s already spoken to her,” Elena said, out of breath. “Klaus has made his first move.”

Bonnie closed the book slowly.
“Then the game’s begun. And this time, Elena... you’re not the only one on the board.”

Outside, across the street, Klaus watched the house from a car.
He traced a finger along the window, marking an invisible point.
“First fracture opened,” he murmured.

The engine started, and the car disappeared into the darkness.

Author’s Note: MYSTIC FALLS RESIDENCE — COMMUNITY NOTICE

Dear Residents,

We inform you that during the night, several suspicious activities were reported within the premises:

Mr. Klaus Mikaelson was seen wandering near the lake and throwing unidentified objects into the water. (Please refrain from drinking that water until further notice.)

Ms. Bonnie Bennett lit candles and performed rituals in her room, causing electrical flickering and dancing shadows in the hallways. We recommend not knocking on her door after 10 p.m.

Ms. Elara received a fake message in Mr. Damon Salvatore’s name and met Klaus at the Mystic Grill, where she was ambushed. Please remember that social traps are not allowed in recreation areas.

Neighbor complaints:

Mr. Stefan Salvatore expressed concern about Ms. Elara’s frequent disappearances.

Mr. Damon Salvatore denies sending any messages and demands an audit of the condo’s WhatsApp system.

Ms. Elena Gilbert declared that “Klaus has already made the first move,” though she presented no evidence at the last meeting.

We ask all residents to keep doors and windows locked, grimoires securely sealed, and, if possible, avoid direct eye contact with Mr. Mikaelson.

Sincerely,
📑 Mystic Falls Residence Administration

(P.S. Anyone leaving daggers, scrolls, or corpses in the main hall will receive an automatic fine on next month’s bill.)

Chapter Text

The Silent Room

The house was silent, except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.
Elara sat at the table, the grimoire open before her.
The candles burned slowly, their flames flickering even without a breeze.

Her fingers glided across the yellowed pages, and something deep inside her knew that this book was more than an ancient record.
It was... aware.

“You know more than you show,” she murmured, as if speaking to a living thing.

The letters on the page quivered slightly, as though the ink itself breathed.
Suddenly, the pages turned on their own, stopping at a section written in an ancient dialect.

Elara read softly, translating each word.
The text spoke of a ritual of release — one that mentioned neither the sun nor the moon, but rather “the bond that binds the immortal to his own damnation.”
And, more disturbingly, it spoke of “two offerings of blood” — one of an ancestral human line marked by fate, and the other of a magical bloodline guarding the gate.

Her heartbeat quickened.
“So Bonnie was right… but no one here really knows what’s at stake.”

The Game of Klaus and Elijah

Meanwhile, in a secluded apartment, Klaus poured two glasses of whiskey.
Elijah, immaculate as always, kept his rigid posture.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” said Elijah.

“Of course I am,” Klaus replied with a smile. “The difference is, this time I’m not lying... merely omitting.”

“It’s not just about Elena, is it?” Elijah asked, voice low — like someone who already knew the answer.

Klaus lifted his glass. “Ah, brother... if I told you, where would be the fun in that?”

They clinked their glasses, but Elijah’s eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

Elara Chooses Her Next Move

Back in her room, Elara slammed the grimoire shut.
She couldn’t trust the group — not until she knew the full truth.
Stefan still believed everything revolved around the sun and moon curse.
Damon, if he ever found out she was a key piece, would use her as a bargaining chip.

And Elijah... Elijah wouldn’t say a word. Not out of malice, but because for him, information was power.
And power, among the Originals, was never shared freely.

She would investigate on her own, following the lead the grimoire had given her.
“If this world gave me another chance,” she whispered to herself, “it’s not so I can sit around while they decide my fate.”

The grimoire, tucked under her arm, pulsed faintly — as if approving her decision.

“Then let’s go,” said Elara firmly. “Show me what they don’t want me to see.”

The Book’s Revelation

Elara sat on the floor, the grimoire open before her.
The candles burned with tall, unsteady flames, as though stirred by something unseen.

She took a deep breath.
The pages began to turn on their own, stopping at a passage written in dark, almost brown ink.
The text seemed older than the rest of the book.

The words shimmered beneath her gaze, twisting until they translated themselves into a language she could understand.
It wasn’t a mere annotation — it was an account.

“When Esther cursed her own bloodline, Ayanna refused to take part in the creation of vampires.
She knew such an act would unbalance the world.
Of her disciples, one remained alive after the rise of the night-born.
She did not fight beside the Mikaelsons... but against them, in silence.”

“When Klaus was cursed to slumber his wolf side, this disciple foresaw the danger.
She knew one day he would try to break the spell.
And so, she created a counter-spell — an emergency seal.
For such a seal to work, it would require a living anchor: born with witch’s magic and ritual blood.”

Elara ran her hand across the paper, feeling its rough texture.
The grimoire reacted to her touch, and visions flooded her mind.

She saw flashes of a woman with long hair and skin etched with ancient symbols, drawing a circle on the ground with blood and ashes.
She saw a beam of golden light being sealed into a medallion.
And finally, she saw icy blue eyes — identical to Klaus’s — burning with hatred.

When she came back to herself, her heart was pounding.
“This isn’t a coincidence…”

Then she realized something she had never stopped to consider:
The body she now inhabited — the “borrowed” life she had awakened in — hadn’t belonged to just anyone.
The mother of that girl had been a witch... and for reasons that might have been madness or despair, she had performed a fertility ritual using a vampire’s blood.

The result?
A daughter born with witch’s blood and vampire blood — but with the vampiric side dormant, sealed away.
Exactly the definition of a living anchor described in the text.

“Blood and spell... key and lock...” she whispered, remembering the strange pull she had felt when Klaus was near weeks before.

Suddenly, everything made sense.
She wasn’t merely different.
She was the other path.
If Klaus sacrificed her in the right ritual, he could awaken his hybrid side without needing the Petrova doppelgänger.

And worse...
That same ritual might awaken her own dormant vampiric blood — if he chose not to kill her.

A shiver ran down her spine.
Because in that instant, she understood:
Klaus and she were both the key and the lock of the curse.
And to him, she was neither enemy nor ally — she was the perfect piece on the board.

Author’s Note

Okay, everyone… this chapter was pure chaotic vampire samba 🤯

Elara just found out the grimoire isn’t just a book — it’s basically a possessed medieval Alexa throwing spoilers right in her face.

Meanwhile, Klaus and Elijah are doing what they do best: sipping expensive whiskey and exchanging slow-motion insults like two immortals who’ve avoided therapy for a thousand years.

Elara: “I don’t trust anyone. I’ll investigate alone.”
The Grimoire: vibrates like a phone getting a notification.
In other words, the book is more excited than Damon finding a new bottle of bourbon.

Then came the bomb: the mother of Elara’s host body basically pulled a DIY Witchcraft + Vampire Tinder ritual, and the result was... Elara, limited edition.

Conclusion: Klaus doesn’t just need Elena Petrova anymore — he now has a Plan B with a name, charm, and main character energy: Elara.

And the worst part? She’s not just the key, or the lock — she’s the entire damn safe, Wi-Fi password included.

In short: Klaus is quietly grinning, Elijah’s got that “I knew this would end badly” face, and Elara’s standing there like:
“Congratulations to me — I’ve officially become the puzzle piece no one wanted to find.”

Chapter Text

The hall, lit only by yellowish lamps, cast long shadows across the old wooden floor. Klaus was leaning back on a dark leather sofa, a glass of wine between his fingers. His relaxed posture contrasted sharply with his cold, calculating eyes.

The door opened slowly. Elijah entered with his usual elegance, the coat heavy on his shoulders, his steady gaze fixed on his brother.

"How many years, Elijah," Klaus said with a crooked smile, savoring the moment. "Always punctual, even for conversations you’d rather avoid."

Elijah closed the door with a soft click. "I have no patience for your games. Let’s get to the point. What are you doing here?"

Klaus swirled the wine in his glass, the red liquid gleaming like fresh blood. "I came to resolve... an old inconvenience. You know, the same one that’s kept me bound to this incomplete life for centuries."

"The curse," Elijah replied curtly. "Always the curse."

Klaus raised his gaze, assessing his brother with a cunning gleam. "The difference, dear brother, is that this time I found something... better. A new possibility."

Elijah kept his expression neutral, though a muscle in his jaw twitched. "This isn’t just about the Petrova doppelgänger, is it?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

Klaus smiled slowly, almost challengingly. "Oh, Elijah... if I told you everything, where would the fun be?"

He took a sip of wine, and silence filled the space between them. The distant ticking of a clock marked the seconds like the beating of a heart.

"You always did enjoy changing the rules mid-game," Elijah said, taking a few steps forward. "But you know you can’t fool me so easily. If there’s another key to the ritual, I want to know now."

Klaus tilted his head, like a predator studying its prey. "Maybe there is... maybe there isn’t."

He stood and moved closer until only inches separated them. The tension in the air was palpable, like electricity before a storm. "But look on the bright side, Elijah. A new piece on the board means new chances... and new dangers."

"You’re talking about Elara," Elijah said, leaving no room for doubt.

Klaus’s smile widened, but he didn’t deny it. "You’ve always been quick to notice. That’s why I enjoy playing with you."

Elijah held his gaze, a shadow of concern crossing his eyes. "If she’s what I think she is, then she’s not just a resource for you... she’s a risk."

Klaus stepped aside, circling the subject like a wolf. "A risk? Perhaps. Or maybe she’s exactly what I need to ensure that nothing — and no one — can stop what’s coming."

Elijah clenched his fists but kept his composure. "I won’t let you use that girl as a pawn in your game."

Klaus leaned slightly, his voice laced with venom and charm. "Oh, Elijah... you of all people should know: in this world, everyone’s a pawn. Some just live long enough to fool themselves into thinking they’re players."

Silence fell like a blade. Then Klaus stepped back, sinking again into the sofa with rehearsed ease. "Now, if you don’t mind, I have plans to make. You’re welcome to stay... or try to stop me. You know I enjoy both scenarios."

Elijah drew a deep breath, turned on his heel, and left — the tight line of his lips betraying the storm of thoughts he hid.

In the old boarding house, the heavy curtains kept the air thick with the scent of burning herbs. Bonnie flipped through the grimoire spread on the table, while Elara watched the pages, her brow furrowed.

"Ever since I started researching this spell, the book feels... alive," said Elara, her eyes fixed on the softly pulsing letters.

Bonnie ran her hand across the page, feeling the subtle warmth radiating from it. "That’s not normal. Ancient grimoires can react to someone connected to a spell, but this is stronger. It’s like the book wants you to follow it."

Elara leaned back in her chair, deep in thought. "And what if that’s exactly it? What if it’s trying to show me something no one else can see?"

Bonnie bit her lip, hesitant. "That would mean your connection to the curse runs deeper than we thought."

Elara looked away, her voice firmer. "Stefan and Damon still think this is all about the sun and the moon. If they find out I’m part of it... Damon will see me as an advantage, Stefan will try to protect me — and I don’t want either of them deciding for me."

Bonnie nodded slowly. "Then we’ll keep this between us... for now. But we need to figure out this ‘key and lock’ story before Klaus realizes you already know."

The grimoire turned a page on its own, revealing a detailed drawing of an ancient medallion surrounded by runes and the symbol of a double circle.

"I think we just found the next step," Bonnie said, touching the illustration. "This artifact could be the anchor keeping the spell alive. If it truly exists, it might be your salvation... or your doom."

Elara felt the weight of those words, but straightened her shoulders, resolute. "Then we’ll find it first."

Outside, hidden in the shadow of a tree, Elijah watched through the half-open window. He couldn’t hear their words, but he saw the grimoire react and the candle flames flicker without wind. The thought of Klaus using Elara as the catalyst for his ritual echoed in his mind. He knew he had little time left — to decide whether he would protect her... or use her to finally end his brother.

That same night, a few blocks away, Klaus walked down an empty street, a satisfied smile on his lips. He knew the grimoire had already revealed more than Elara could comprehend. And sooner or later, she would come to him — not out of trust, but because he would become the only source of the answers she sought.

"Good girl..." he murmured to himself before vanishing into the darkness.

Post-Credits Scene — Mystic Falls

[Sound of chairs dragging, hot coffee being poured, and fried dough being served.]

Mrs. Ruth (the unofficial neighborhood chairwoman): "Girls, did you see? Klaus is up to something again! And this time it’s not just Elena he’s after... now there’s Elara. He’s setting up a whole sacrificial buffet, I swear!"

Mrs. Nair (the one with the lace-curtained gate): "Told you! That man didn’t come here for peace. Elijah, all buttoned up and proper, tried to talk to him, but the brother only ever talks about curses. I’m telling you, that’s centuries of jealousy built up."

Mrs. Lourdes (the one who brings coffee to gossip sessions): "And poor Elara? The girl just wanted to study her little book, and now she finds out she’s the key, the lock, and the chain to Klaus! Poor thing..."

Mrs. Ruth: "And that grimoire, huh? Turning pages on its own — must be possessed! If it were in my house, it’d be in the trash already. I don’t sleep with haunted books around!"

Mrs. Nair: "Look, I’ll say this... Klaus is cruel, but what a presence! If he looked at me that way, I’d be handing over my ID right then and there."

Mrs. Lourdes: "Mercy, Nair! Don’t say that, or you’ll be the third key and end up as a sacrifice yourself!"

[They all burst out laughing as an eerie wind rustles the trees outside.]

Mrs. Ruth (peering into the shadows): "Shhh... did you hear that? Sounded like a whisper... ‘the distance is fading’... Oh Lord. Close the curtains, Nair! Close them, I’m not dealing with any of this vampire nonsense tonight!"

Chapter Text

The night was heavy, the sky shrouded in clouds that smothered any light from moon or stars. In the second-floor hallway of the boarding house, the silence was broken only by the soft creak of wood under careful footsteps.

Elara closed her bedroom door after hiding the grimoire in a secret compartment beneath the floorboards. Her hands were still warm from the strange heat that radiated from its pages. The spell of the medallion, the runes, the feeling that every answer led to more questions—all of it churned in her mind.

As she turned to go down the stairs, she almost collided with a figure standing in the corridor shadows.

“Miss Elara.” Elijah’s voice, deep and impeccably controlled, echoed softly, laden with intent.

She stepped back instinctively—not out of fear, but to gain space to observe him. Elijah was immaculate as always: dark suit, hair slicked back, hands clasped behind him. The posture of a diplomat, but the eyes of someone measuring every reaction.

“Are you following me now?” Elara asked, raising an eyebrow. Her tone was firm, with a hint of challenge.

He gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “I prefer to say I’m... keeping a close watch.”

“Usually, people who watch that closely have a reason.” She tilted her head, studying him as he studied her. “And you don’t strike me as someone who wastes time.”

Elijah remained composed but took a step forward, his voice calm, as if reciting ancient truths. “Reasons... we all have them. The question is whether we’re willing to reveal them.”

The silence that followed was tense, like a taut string about to snap. Elara spoke first.
“So, Elijah...” She crossed her arms, meeting his gaze. “Why do you think I’m connected to all of this?”

He regarded her for a few seconds, analytical interest flickering in his eyes. “Because fate rarely places new pieces on the board without purpose. And you... you’re not an ordinary piece.”

Elara gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve heard that before. Usually from people trying to manipulate the pieces to win the game.”

Elijah’s eyes narrowed slightly, a trace of respect passing through his expression. “I am not Klaus.”

“No,” she agreed firmly. “But you’re no saint either.”

For a moment, the tension between them shifted into something like mutual admiration. She had met his calculated composure with equal precision.

“What do you know about the medallion?” Elijah asked abruptly, changing course.

“More than I intend to tell,” she replied quickly, like a strike.

He tilted his head, analyzing her choice of words. “So you’ve seen it.” It wasn’t a question.

Elara took a step closer, closing the distance and refusing to be intimidated. “And you already know Klaus is in town. Don’t tell me you’re not planning to face him.”

For an instant, something in Elijah’s expression shifted—a flicker of inner conflict. “If you’re implying that I intend to use you to get to my brother—” he began.

“I’m not implying,” Elara interrupted, her voice sharp. “I’m stating it.”

The air grew heavier. Elijah maintained control, but the spark in his eyes betrayed that she had hit the mark.

“Klaus is a master at exploiting weaknesses,” he said finally. “And you... you’re a variable he won’t ignore.”

“Good,” Elara said, adjusting her coat with a decisive gesture. “Because I don’t intend to ignore him either.”

Elijah frowned slightly, as if trying to decipher whether it was bravado or genuine resolve.
“Do not underestimate what he’s capable of,” he warned, his voice a tone lower.

“And don’t underestimate what I can endure,” she countered, holding his gaze.

The hallway fell silent, save for the muffled sound of distant thunder. Elijah stepped aside, opening the way for her—a courteous gesture, but one charged with meaning. He recognized her strength, even as he kept her under watch.

As Elara passed by, she could feel the weight of his eyes on her back. She knew Elijah wasn’t an enemy... but he wasn’t an ally either. Not yet.

Outside, beneath the light drizzle beginning to fall, Klaus watched the boarding house from afar. Through the window, he had seen Elijah and Elara in the corridor. He hadn’t heard their words, but he didn’t need to.

He smiled to himself—a smile that never promised anything good.
“Perfect...” he murmured before dissolving into the darkness. “Let’s see which one of you makes the first move.”

Author’s Note

I swear this chapter started as a civilized conversation and ended with three people ready to unpack family trauma, forbidden spells, and maybe a touch of passive-aggressive flirting.

Elara keeps collecting enemies and allies like someone trading stickers, Elijah is currently competing for “Most Enigmatic Stare of the Century,” and Klaus... well, Klaus remains the well-dressed embodiment of chaos we all love to hate.

I promise no one dies in the next chapter (probably).

Chapter Text

The night felt heavier than usual. The cold wind hissed through the cracks in the window, making the curtains ripple like specters. In the room, Elara sat on the floor, the grimoire open before her, illuminated by a circle of candles whose flames flickered in rhythm with her breathing.

Her fingers traced the edges of the yellowed pages when a sudden chill ran down her spine. The ink shimmered faintly, as if an invisible light had passed through the paper. Then the grimoire moved on its own: the pages turned rapidly until they stopped at one that seemed sealed shut. With a soft snap, it came loose under Elara’s touch, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

A flash of light burst from the book, illuminating the candle circle. At its center now lay an ancient medallion—aged silver, etched with symbols Elara recognized as pre-colonial witchcraft, but marked by something older, almost tribal. The air around it shimmered slightly, like heat over asphalt on a scorching day.

“What...?” Her voice barely came out, a hoarse whisper of disbelief.

She reached out, but a sharp chill stopped her. It wasn’t just magic... it was a presence. That familiar sensation, now magnified, of being watched.

“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” Klaus’s voice slipped from the shadows in the darkest corner of the room, smooth as venom dissolved in honey.

Elara’s head snapped up. There he was—leaning against the wall, arms crossed, wearing the expression of a man who knew exactly what she would find. The cunning gleam in his blue eyes confirmed this was no coincidence.

“You’re following me,” she said, lifting her chin in defiance.

“‘Following’ is such an ugly word. I prefer... watching.” Klaus smiled faintly, taking a step forward. “I thought we might talk—especially about the little gift you’ve just received.”

He approached the medallion like a predator examining its prey. Elara instinctively backed away but held her ground. Klaus tilted his head, admiring the object.

“You know, it’s been centuries since I’ve seen something like this. It’s... familiar.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, savoring a secret. “And very dangerous... in the wrong hands.”

“And you think yours are the right ones?” she shot back, her tone edged with challenge.

Klaus’s smile deepened, but before he could answer, a gust of wind swept through the window, extinguishing two candles. In the next instant, a deep voice sounded behind him:

“Step away from her, Niklaus.”

Elijah stood in the doorway—impeccable in his dark suit, though his eyes were glacial. He didn’t seem to have entered the room so much as materialized from the storm itself.

Klaus didn’t turn immediately; his smile only widened. “And here’s my dear brother—always so theatrical.”

“It’s not theatrics,” Elijah replied, advancing slowly, his gaze flicking between the medallion and Elara. “I felt the magic of this artifact from three streets away. I know what it is... and that you shouldn’t be this close to it.”

Elara watched them, her heart pounding like a war drum. Two Originals—two sources of immense and volatile power—stood before her, and she was the prize in an ancient game neither intended to lose.

Klaus stepped aside, yielding space but keeping close enough to assert his claim. “Please, Elijah. Don’t pretend you’re here out of altruism.”

“I’m here to prevent you from destroying what little balance remains in this town,” Elijah said, his voice controlled but tight with tension. “And to protect those unfortunate enough to cross your path.”

Silence fell, thick as tar. Elara struggled to breathe under the weight of their presence. She knew any word, any movement, could spark the explosion.

“So,” Klaus said, his tone laced with amused contempt, “let’s spare Elara your noble lies, brother. You’re not worried about her. You’re worried about what she is. About what she can do.”

Elijah’s eyes locked on his brother’s, the air seeming to grow heavier still. “And you, Niklaus, care neither for her nor for the world. Only for yourself.”

Klaus smiled, his eyes hardening to ice. “Welcome to life, brother.”

Before the argument could erupt further, Elara grabbed the medallion and pressed it against her chest. A pulse of silent energy surged through the room, and the candles reignited, their flames higher and paler than before. Klaus and Elijah exchanged a glance—for the first time, both genuinely intrigued.

“Whatever it is you both want,” Elara said, her voice ringing with authority that filled the room, “I’m not a bargaining chip. And I won’t be manipulated by either of you.”

The silence that followed was a calculated truce. Both brothers knew the next move would have to be more subtle.

Klaus gave a faint smirk and stepped back toward the window. “As you wish, love. But remember—sometimes keeping a secret is far more dangerous than sharing it.”

He leapt into the night without a sound. Elijah remained, watching Elara for a long moment, as if unspoken words hung between them.

“Keep it close,” he said softly, almost like a confidant. “And don’t trust him.”

Then he was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the corridor.

Elara was alone now, the medallion pulsing with its own warmth in her hands. The grimoire, now closed, seemed silent... but she could still feel eyes upon her.

Somewhere in the night, two brothers were plotting their next moves—both certain that Elara would be the decisive piece in their game.

Author’s Note: Mystic Falls Homeowners Association Minutes

Date: A tense and stormy night
Agenda: Paranormal manifestation and incident in tenant Elara’s room

Report: The grimoire materialized an ancient medallion bearing pre-witch symbols.
Incident: Mr. Klaus entered the premises uninvited, followed by Mr. Elijah.
Discussion: The brothers exchanged accusations regarding “ambition” and “balance.”
Resolution: Tenant Elara took possession of the medallion, reignited the candles through magical means, and declared herself “not a bargaining chip.”
Adjournment: Klaus exited through the window; Elijah, through the door. Elara remained with the artifact.
Next meeting: Pending the next supernatural occurrence.

Note: Building manager Mrs. Ruth advises residents to keep curtains closed and avoid possessed grimoires until further notice.

Chapter Text

The silence after Klaus left Elara’s room was brief. Footsteps echoed along the deserted street, blending with the rustle of leaves, as if the night itself conspired to hide secrets.

Klaus walked unhurriedly, hands in his coat pockets, a faint smile playing on his lips—one that always carried calculation. He knew his brother wouldn’t be far behind.

“So...” Elijah’s voice came from behind him, firm but restrained. “Now you hover around her as if she were just another one of your toys.”

Klaus stopped, still facing away, letting the cold breeze brush against his face. “Hovering is such an ugly word, brother. I prefer... investing.” He turned slowly, blue eyes gleaming beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. “Elara is different. You felt it. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

Elijah stepped closer, measured as ever, his expression composed. “What I felt was an artifact of power manifesting in Mystic Falls. An artifact that should not exist... and that, coincidentally, appeared with her.” His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean we should turn her into part of your schemes.”

Klaus laughed quietly, without humor. “Should? Oh, Elijah... it’s not a matter of what we should do. It’s inevitable. You saw her reaction to the medallion.” He tilted his head. “It chose her.”

“Cursed objects don’t choose, Niklaus. They corrupt.” Elijah’s tone was calm but carried that familiar tension Klaus knew too well. “You see her as a key to your curse. I see someone who could die because of it.”

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. The street seemed to narrow, and the flickering lamplight stretched their shadows, as if even the night tried to flee.

Klaus took two steps closer. “And if I told you she might give me something Elena Gilbert never could?” His voice was a poisonous whisper. “An alternative. A chance to win without playing the same old game.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly do you think she is, Niklaus?”

“More than you’re willing to admit,” Klaus replied swiftly, as if afraid to reveal too much. “And let’s be honest, brother... you’ve always had a weakness for girls who refuse to be victims.”

The distant hum of a car engine broke the silence. Elijah looked away for a second but didn’t step back. “I won’t let you destroy her to achieve your goals.”

“And I won’t let your outdated morality stand in my way,” Klaus retorted, his smile sharp as steel. “Perhaps... just this once... we could work together. Until we discover what she really is.”

“Work together,” Elijah repeated, his tone thick with skepticism. “You mean lie until you get what you want, then stab me in the back.”

Klaus let out a theatrical sigh. “Always so dramatic, Elijah. And to think we used to be so close—before you decided my life should follow your precious code of honor.”

“Don’t mistake honor for weakness,” Elijah said, his voice cutting. “And don’t mistake your obsession for destiny.”

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of burning wood from a nearby fireplace. Neither of them moved. Then Klaus spoke again.

“I’ll find out everything about the medallion. And about her.” His voice softened, almost intimate. “The question is... will you try to stop me, or stand beside me when it happens?”

Elijah didn’t respond right away. His eyes fixed on his brother, trying to read through him—an impossible task. When he finally spoke, it was with deliberate precision. “I’ll stop you from killing her. The rest... we’ll see.”

Klaus smiled faintly. “That’s the closest thing to a ‘yes’ I’ve ever heard from you.”

He started to walk away, then paused and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, and brother... don’t underestimate Elara. I have a feeling this time, the one being manipulated... might be you.”

With one last smile, Klaus vanished into the darkness. Elijah remained still until his brother’s presence faded completely. Then his gaze lifted toward the lit window of Elara’s room, his expression hardening. He knew Niklaus was right about one thing: the girl was not ordinary.

And no matter how hard he tried, Elijah couldn’t decide whether to keep his distance... or move closer.

Post-Credits Scene: Voices of Mystic Falls

[Sound of clinking teacups, a radio playing soft country music, and curtains being carefully parted.]

Mrs. Ruth (the unofficial neighborhood chairwoman): “Oh, girls, did you see that? Klaus and Elijah out there arguing in the middle of the street like they own the neighborhood! And poor Elara, caught in the middle with that medallion shining brighter than the Christmas lights downtown!”

Mrs. Nair (the one with the lace curtains): “I told you, Ruth! That smirk on Klaus’s face—he’s got a plan, I’m sure of it. And Elijah? He looked like he was holding on to his patience with holy water and prayer. That medallion... I swear I saw a red glow! Or maybe it was my flashlight? Oh Lord, turn it off, that’s creepy!”

Mrs. Ruth: “Red glow, Nair? That’s trouble, not decoration! And Elara holding that thing like it’s the key to city hall’s vault. I’m telling you, that girl’s more tangled up than yarn in my cat Princess’s paws! And Klaus... walked by with a stain on his jacket. Ketchup or blood? With him, who knows.”

Mrs. Nair: “Ketchup? Oh, Ruth, please! That was blood for sure! With these vampires wandering around, my blood pressure’s through the roof. I lit a blessed candle and locked my door with a padlock. This is Mystic Falls, not a playground!”

Mrs. Ruth: “I already texted the neighborhood group chat: ‘Emergency meeting—because with a Mikaelson on the street, no one sleeps tonight!’ But tell me, Nair, be honest—if Klaus gave you that look, wouldn’t you hand over your ID?”

Mrs. Nair (laughing): “Mercy, Ruth! I’d hand over my ID, my tax records, and the recipe for my cornbread! But seriously, close the curtains. I heard a weird wind... sounded like a whisper saying, ‘the medallion calls.’ I’m grabbing my rosary!”

[The two burst into laughter as the wind rustles the curtains and a faint red glow flickers in the distance—barely perceptible, but there.]

Chapter Text

The room was swallowed by an almost suffocating silence. The only source of light came from the lamp beside the bed, casting a golden glow across the open pages of the grimoire. The air felt heavier, as if the atmosphere itself were holding its breath.

Elara sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the medallion resting in her palm. It hadn’t been there before... and yet, it had suddenly appeared, falling onto the grimoire with a soft metallic sound that echoed inside her like a distant thunderclap.

The medallion was made of aged silver, engraved with spirals and symbols she didn’t recognize, though they stirred an eerie sense of familiarity. In its center, a dark stone reflected the light in shifting tones — at times silver, at others, a deep, consuming black.

She swallowed hard, her heartbeat quickening. Somehow, she knew the artifact was watching her.

“This doesn’t make sense...” she whispered to herself, the words vanishing into the stillness of the room.

Beside her, the grimoire remained open to a page she didn’t remember turning. The text, written in ancient Latin, seemed to pulse faintly — as if the ink itself were alive. In the middle, a darker line burned brighter than the rest:
“The lock recognizes the key.”

A shiver crawled up her spine. Instinctively, she brought the medallion closer to the grimoire... and the instant she did, a rush of wind tore through the room, sending the curtains slamming against the wall. The lamp flickered.

The pages turned on their own, fast, until they stopped on an unfamiliar spell — lines of shifting symbols forming images of a stone circle and shadowy figures under the light of a full moon.

Elara stepped back, her fingers trembling. “What the hell is this?” she breathed.

The stone at the center of the medallion glowed faintly, releasing a soft tone — almost a voice — whispering at the edge of her consciousness. Not words exactly, but a melody that stirred something deep within her.

That was when she felt it: a presence. Not physical, but real — as if a shadow leaned over her shoulder. The air grew colder, and for a heartbeat, she swore she saw a figure in the mirror.

The memory of Klaus, from only minutes earlier, made her tense.
If he finds out about this... he won’t stop.

Her instincts screamed that she had to act alone. She couldn’t risk being used. She knew Elijah had his secrets too — he wouldn’t tell her everything about the ritual. To survive, she would have to uncover the truth herself... whatever the medallion and the grimoire wanted her to know.

Elara slammed the book shut and slipped the medallion into the inner pocket of her jacket. The sound echoed through the room, but what unsettled her wasn’t the noise — it was the pulse beneath her hand, steady and warm, like a second heartbeat against her chest.

She walked to the window and looked out into the street. She saw nothing.
But she felt it.

A chill ran along her skin, and she knew someone was out there, watching from the dark.

Maybe Klaus.
Maybe Elijah.
Maybe both.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. She needed to find Bonnie — the only person who might help her translate the grimoire, at least the parts safe enough to reveal. But part of her feared that the medallion would choose what to show... and to whom.

As she stared into the night, a sudden gust of wind made the lights flicker. For a moment, she saw — or thought she saw — two silhouettes in the distance, motionless, watching. Her heart pounded. She didn’t know whether she wanted it to be real... or not.

Elara drew the curtains closed, locked the door, and returned to the bed. She leaned back against the pillow, but didn’t sleep. The medallion, warm against her chest, whispered stories in a language she couldn’t yet understand.

Downstairs, a faint creak echoed through the floorboards. For the first time since arriving in Mystic Falls, Elara was certain — absolutely certain — she wasn’t alone.

Post-Credits Scene – Elara’s Journal

Dear Diary,

If you thought my life was complicated before... it just got an upgrade: a pulsating medallion, a self-aware grimoire, and two Original vampires watching me like I’m some kind of living art project.

Today I learned that “the lock recognizes the key” isn’t a poetic metaphor about friendship. It’s literal. About me.
The medallion and the grimoire are working together, revealing only what they want, and I’m just trying not to lose my mind.

I felt presences — maybe Klaus, maybe Elijah... maybe both. I’m done trying to predict which one’s plotting what. I need to decode this with Bonnie before it leads to blood, spells, or my premature demise.

Note to self: never trust anyone who smiles while planning to use you as a key. Keeping the medallion close isn’t just symbolic — it’s survival.

And yes... I’m still alive. For now.

— Elara ✍️

Chapter Text

Dawn in Mystic Falls carried a strange stillness that morning. The sun seemed colder, and the lazy fog dragged itself along the street as if reluctant to leave.
Elara hadn’t slept. The medallion rested against her chest, hidden beneath her leather jacket, still warm—still pulsing with its own rhythm.

Each step on the sidewalk sounded too loud, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed. In every shop window, her reflection showed not just her face… but something else, something fleeting, too quick to see clearly.

When she reached Bonnie’s door, she took a deep breath and knocked.

Bonnie opened it, her hair tied in a messy bun, her eyes tired—but when she saw Elara, alertness replaced fatigue.
“You’re pale. What happened?”

Elara stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind her. “I need you to see something.” Her voice was low, urgent.

She pulled the medallion from her pocket and placed it on the table. Bonnie took a cautious step closer, her eyes drawn to the object as if it were calling to her.
“Where did you get this?”
“I didn’t. It… appeared. Last night. On top of the grimoire.”

Bonnie brushed her fingers across the medallion, and the stone at its center glowed faintly, releasing a distant chime like silver bells. The witch pulled back, startled.
“It reacted to my touch… that’s not normal.”

Elara crossed her arms, tense. “The grimoire reacted too. Pages turning on their own, words appearing. And a phrase: ‘The lock recognizes the key.’”

Bonnie’s expression hardened. “That’s… dangerous. If it’s what I think it is, it’s not just any artifact. It could be part of an ancient spell—a spell that chooses who wields it.”

In Bonnie’s room, candles flickered on the table. The medallion rested at the center, pulsing faintly, as if breathing.
Elara sat before it, her hands over the grimoire that still seemed alive. The pages turned by themselves, revealing ancient symbols, blood circles, and inscriptions only she could understand.

“I can’t believe Klaus already knows…” Elara muttered, her voice trembling between frustration and fear.
“He senses everything,” Bonnie replied, calm but wary. “If this is what I think it is, he’ll try to isolate you, manipulate you. Not out of random cruelty, but because you’re… essential to him.”

Elara clenched her fists, her jaw tight. “I won’t be a pawn. I won’t let him use anyone—not me, not you.”
“But you understand, don’t you?” Bonnie’s voice softened with concern. “If the medallion chose you, it’s not just an object. It’s a link to the ritual—to the lost lineage of witches who tried to protect the world from the imbalance the Mikaelsons caused. You… might be the living key, Elara.”

Silence fell—heavy as lead.
Elara drew a long breath, the weight of it all pressing on her chest. “So that’s why he’s been watching me from the start.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He feels the connection, even if he doesn’t fully understand it… but he wants control.”

Bonnie bit her lip, conflicted. “I should tell someone… maybe Stefan could—”
“No.” Elara’s tone was sharp, controlled. “No one else can know. Not yet. If Klaus finds out you told me anything, everything’s lost. I trust you, Bonnie. But no one else. Understand?”

Bonnie nodded, eyes downcast, torn between loyalty and fear.

Outside, on a deserted street, a black car slid quietly to a stop. Klaus sat inside, his eyes fixed on the witch’s house. Every movement, every reaction of Elara’s, was studied, calculated.
“So curious… curiosity always leads to the trap,” he murmured to himself, a slow smile curving his lips.

A few blocks away, in a crumbling building, Elijah stood motionless, watching.
“Klaus… still playing with pieces he doesn’t understand.” His voice was low, weighted with tension. “He underestimates the value of the living key… but I can’t interfere. Not yet.”

His gaze cut through the darkness, following his brother’s every move. Elijah knew Klaus better than anyone—his manipulative nature, his hunger for control. But he also recognized the quiet strength within Elara.
She wasn’t a pawn. Not anymore. And that changed everything.

In Bonnie’s room, the two women prepared a spell of revelation. Magic circles were drawn; candles flickered; herbs smoldered in the air.
The medallion began to vibrate, radiating a golden light that reflected in their eyes.

“Now, focus,” Bonnie whispered, chanting ancient words. “Think about what you feel—about him, about what this means.”
“I feel anger… fear… and something I can’t name,” Elara said, her gaze locked on the medallion.

Suddenly, flashes flooded her mind—ancient rituals, stone circles, blood spilled beneath full moons, and a shadowed figure with ice-blue eyes and a cruel smile that could only belong to Klaus.

“He already knows…” Elara whispered, her breath catching. “He knows who I am in all of this—and he’s going to test me.”

Bonnie’s hand covered hers, steady. “Then we’ll be ready. He’ll try to isolate you, to force your hand. But you don’t have to face this alone. Just… be careful.”

Footsteps echoed outside. The medallion pulsed, casting a bright light across the room.
Elara rose instantly, tense, while Bonnie held her breath.

“He’s closer than we thought,” Bonnie murmured.
“I won’t back down,” Elara said, firm, her eyes blazing with resolve. “If this world gave me another chance, I’ll fight for it. I won’t be used, manipulated, or sacrificed.”

Outside, Klaus straightened his posture, a predator in patient observation. Every movement of hers was noted. He knew the chess game had begun.

And in the shadows beyond, Elijah clenched his jaw, the conflict burning inside him: intervene and face Klaus, or wait—to see how far his brother would go.

The board was set. The pieces were moving. And Elara was the living key—capable of changing the game… or destroying it entirely.

Night crept in, and in Mystic Falls, the silent war had only just begun.

Author’s Note

Oh, dear readers… you thought you knew where the story was headed, didn’t you? You thought Elara was just another pawn on the board?
Well, she’s just proven she can move the pieces herself.

But beware—the board is vast, the players are dangerous, and every secret revealed demands a price.
Who will win? Even she doesn’t know yet…